


Pay to Play

by tartanroyaltea



Series: Pay to Play [1]
Category: Tom Hiddleston -Fandom
Genre: Anal Play, Anal Sex, Angst, BDSM, Bondage, Dom/sub, Drama & Romance, F/M, Oral Sex, Sensory Deprivation, Smut, Sugar Daddy, Temperature Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-30
Updated: 2015-04-27
Packaged: 2018-02-28 18:55:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 101,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2743481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tartanroyaltea/pseuds/tartanroyaltea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charlotte Green is a shy and studious medical student living in London and struggling to pay the bills; she joins a ‘sugar daddy’ website and gets selected by none other than Tom Hiddleston, a notorious bachelor and extremely wealthy City solicitor, with a few little kinks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

I have morals, I have standards, I have self-esteem…unfortunately, I also have a truckload of student debt and no way of paying it off. The last is the reason why I ended up sitting in the reception room of a glossy townhouse in Belgravia, about to meet the man who had decided to ‘sponsor’ me in return for a ‘relationship’. Yes, I do realise how creepy it sounds. My skin was practically crawling before I had even met him. I had only seen a tiny picture of him from the website, and frankly, I had no proof that he actually looked as handsome in real life as those pixels claimed.

The room was completely, eerily silent, and decorated in a very modern, ‘masculine’ way. I didn’t like it at all. It felt cold, clinical and overpowering. I like vintage furniture and pastel patterned wallpaper. Absurdly, I imagined that the room was snootily judging me and my attire. I actually had to borrow the dress from a friend, I don’t really do dresses, least of all ones as sexy and sophisticated as this one. I did like the shade of blue, though. I couldn’t stop fidgeting with the hem, wishing it was several inches longer.

You’re probably wondering why I voluntarily placed myself in a situation that both creeped me out and made me feel exceedingly uncomfortable- well, I have two words for you: university fees. I’m studying medicine in the City, and the fees are extortion, absolute daylight robbery. Add that to living expenses: rent, food, transport, and I total thousands of pounds a month. My student funding, although relatively generous, doesn’t cover even half of what I need.

 

All had been fine in my first two years; I had to be frugal, of course, but I was never worried about how I would pay the bills. Then, over the summer, my grandfather died, and just like that, I had lost one guardian and the other was being absolutely drained paying off the funeral and settling various ugly debts. My poor Nana had barely enough to keep herself afloat, so I spun a little white lie; I told her that I had managed to find a part-time job, in retail, which would cover my expenses. Nana sounded so relieved when I told her, I couldn’t possibly take it back.

The reality was that, given my forty hour week at the university, I had hardly the time to eat or sleep let alone squeeze a job into my small portion of waking hours. Even if I had been mad enough to try, nobody wants to hire someone whose hours are as inflexible as mine. I was at a loss.

But on a girl’s night out, two weeks ago, one of my friends had, in a drunken stupor, revealed that she had a ‘sugar daddy’ keeping her in the style she was accustomed to. I was shocked- I had admired her designer handbags and weekly rounds of brand new clothes assuming that she came from a very wealthy background. As I held her hair back for her, she rambled on and on about her ‘sugar daddy’ (I cringed every time she said it, and I cringe every time I even think it), how he bought her such wonderful gifts and took her on expensive, romantic dates all over London, and beyond. I was horrified, repulsed and, I’m ashamed to admit it, intrigued. I made a furtive mental note of the website she spoke of. It sounded like the answer to all of my problems.

And that is how I found myself in this fancy house feeling like a fool and a glorified prostitute all at once.  It’s definitely not the best feeling in the world.

A door opened to my left, and I jumped up as if the Queen herself was about to enter. A tall, lean man in a three-piece suit strode across the room towards me, his long legs allowing him to move at an alarming speed. He was dark haired and sharp featured, just like in the photograph. He looked, and moved like a panther- litheness and stealth combined. I was his prey.

“Charlotte,” he said, coming to a halt in front of me. His voice was deep and richly smooth, like honey or salted caramel. I panicked, almost curtsying in my eagerness to not make too much eye contact with this exotic creature.

“Yes, that’s me. Hello, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr Hiddleston,” I replied, timidly outstretching my hand. A slight pause and he gripped my palm firmly with his own. His skin was surprisingly smooth, for a man.

“I assure you, the pleasure is all mine, Charlotte,” he said. He turned my hand in his own, leaning down to brush his thin lips against the back of it. My heart fluttered; his action reminding me of a Disney prince. “And you must call me Tom,” he insisted, finally catching my gaze. His large stormy blue-grey eyes bored into mine intensely. It was a command. I broke quickly and returned my gaze to studiously examining the grain of the shiny wooden floor. Tom released my hand, ordering me to sit as he did the same. He sat on the settee opposite, leaning back comfortably, his legs spread wide in a position that stated _: I own everything in this room, and any room I choose to enter_. My own legs were crossed tightly, defensively trying to make myself appear smaller against this intimidating man.

Tom didn’t speak right away, instead he simply watched me becoming gradually more and more uneasy. I chanced a single glance at him, admiring his defined cheekbones and chiselled jawline quickly, before I lost my nerve and resumed staring at my hands.

“You are uncomfortable, I see. There is no need to be, I can assure you. You are free to walk out that door at any point of this evening, Charlotte.” The sound of his voice cutting through the drawn-out silence startled me. In only a matter of minutes, I had forgotten how wonderful a sound it was.

“We need to discuss the terms of our ‘arrangement’, and I would like you to look at me when we do so,” he continued. I looked up obediently; he sat with an elbow on the arm of the sofa, running a long finger thoughtfully along his lips.

“Have you done this before?” he enquired, his finger still moving back and forth across his mouth. It was very distracting.

“No. I haven’t ever done anything like this,” I said, a little insulted. He smirked slightly, picking up on my thinly-veiled indignation.

“Then I will explain to you how it works. I will make suggestions about the nature of our relationship, and you will approve or disapprove them. Any disagreements can, I’m sure, be negotiated. As can your payment”. I flushed at his blasé reference to the financial aspect, feeling cheaper by the second.

“Alright…what ‘suggestions’ do you have?” I asked anxiously.

“First and foremost, you will be my ‘girlfriend’, in the sense that we will have a romantic and physical relationship. You will spend a reasonable amount of time with me-”

“When I’m not in university,” I interrupted. Tom’s hand stopped moving. His eyes narrowed infinitesimally.

“Second, you will never interrupt me, or speak impolitely to me.”

“Yes…yes, I’m sorry,” I stammered, genuinely fearful that I had already displeased him. He pursed his lips.

“Third, you will always address me by my name, unless I tell you otherwise.” He waited for me to respond.

“Yes, Tom.”

“Very good. Fourth, I will require a copy of your schedule, so that I may know when you are available to me. As I mentioned before, I expect you to spend a good amount of your free time in my company. I will not stipulate how many hours per week or anything so tedious, but if I feel you are avoiding me, there will be consequences.” I shivered at the threat behind his final word; I knew that he meant financial consequences, but it sounded far more frightening.

“Fifth, I will advise you on how I wish you to look when you are with me- your hair, clothes etcetera. I want you to wear dresses or skirts at all times.” I stared at him in astonishment. He essentially wanted to dictate my entire life, right down to what I wore. I knew ours wouldn’t be a ‘normal’ relationship, but  _still_.

“In return for all of this, I will provide you with a monthly allowance, and if you please me, I may purchase you gifts, as well.” Any mention of money was making me feel ill. The phrase ‘if you please me’ sounded ominous. I ventured to ask a question.

“If I may ask, Tom. How much will the…monthly allowance be?” I was embarrassed to ask, but I didn’t see much point in pretending- he knew why I was here, and what I wanted. And I knew what he wanted. Sort of.

“£5000 is reasonable to begin with, I think,” he said, not even hesitating to consider.  _Five thousand pounds. Per month._  Given that I was living on £500 a month, it was incredible. My mouth nearly dropped open in shock. It sounded too good to be true.

“That is…very generous, Tom,” I managed, after my mind had stopped whirling at the possibility of what I could do with £5000  _every single month_. Tom tilted his head in recognition of his own altruism.

“I…I have to ask, though. You said that we would have a physical relationship, and I just ah…wanted to know, what exactly you meant by that? Eh, Tom.” Having to address him every time was harder to remember than I would have thought. It felt unnatural.

Tom’s gaze didn’t waver a bit. “I meant sex, naturally,” he said, as nonchalant as if he was discussing the colour of the curtains, and not an organized sexual relationship. “Is that a problem?” he enquired silkily, obviously aware of my discomfort. Of course, I wasn’t an idiot; I knew that sex would be involved. I just hadn’t expected him to be so  _blunt_  about it.

“No, no it isn’t. Not at all, Tom,” I lied, trying to match his offhand attitude. I was fairly certain he wasn’t buying it, judging by the sly and slightly amused grin that graced his features.

“I am pleased to hear that, Charlotte. Although, I must warn you, I have some…divergent tastes.” A full blown smirk emerged. I tried to grapple with the concept of ‘divergent tastes’ and what exactly that could mean in terms of sex. I didn’t much like the ideas coming to mind. I was no sheltered virgin, I had seen bits of porn here and there; I even watched a bit of more hard-core stuff once, but it wasn’t to my liking, much to my then-boyfriend’s great disappointment.

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand… Tom,” I admitted, irritated that I even had to ask for an explanation, that his ambiguity had essentially  _forced_ me to. Tom adjusted his suit slightly, enticing me to admire how luxuriant the grey fabric was, and how neatly the suit was tailored to his body.

“Then allow me to explain. Do you know what a  _dom_ is?” His voice had dropped an octave. The ghostly hairs on the nape of my neck rose up in unison. I nodded. He raised his eyebrows at my half-response.

“Yes, Tom,” I whispered, knowing what was coming next. Stills from that dodgy hard-core porno whirred through my mind, setting off panic alarms.

“Good. Then all I need tell you is that I am one, and thus, the  _dynamic_  of our sexual activities is already dictated. Should you agree to our arrangement, of course,” he said smoothly, gripping his armrests tightly.

At that point, I was sorely tempted to run from him and never look back. But a pitiful little voice in my head reminded me:  _£5000 per month, Charlotte._  I couldn’t afford to refuse him, and yet…I wasn’t foolish enough to agree without further information.

“When you say that you are a um… _dom_. Can you…can you just explain exactly what you expect me to do? Please, Tom.” I was fighting desperately to maintain some semblance of a game face. Tom regarded me with a peculiar look in his eye, as if he had not expected me to have the gall to ask further questions, but was pleased that I had surprised him.

“Very well. Do not fret, I am not interested in anything too  _extreme_. All I require is for you to obey me in the bedroom, and show deference to me outside it. I will never force you to do anything you are unhappy with, that I promise you,” he assured me. I was a slightly comforted by what he had said, but I still wanted particulars. As if he was reading my mind, Tom continued, unbidden. “I cannot tell you exactly what we will be doing, because naturally, I am not familiar with your boundaries yet, but for example, I enjoy bondage. And a great many other things, but there is little point in worrying you with them now. As I said, you will be able to decline any suggestion that is disagreeable to you, insofar as your disinclination is not excessive.” Tom paused, allowing his words to sink in. I didn’t know how to feel. My sex life up to that point had been extremely vanilla, and frankly, a little dull in my opinion. I was shocked to find that, under the fear and apprehension, I was  _excited_  by the prospect of exploring Tom’s  _divergent tastes._

“I am a natural dom, Charlotte. If you allow me to, I will mould you into my perfect submissive. I assure you, it will be extremely enjoyable for both of us,” he added, his voice shifting from strong and forceful to be soft as a caress. The tendons in his jaw tightened and his knuckles whitened as he waited for my response. His dark eyes flickered, revealing the inner predator again.

It was like an out of body experience, I felt as though I was floating above the two of us, watching myself struggle against this man, completely out of my depth. Thankfully, my emotions shut off and my rational side took over. I needed the money. It was my only option. Besides, I asked: was our arrangement really all that different from most ‘romantic relationships’? Sex, love, money, and power- they were indivisible in the real world.

“I agree to all suggestions put forward, Tom. But I also reserve the right to withdraw from the ‘relationship’ at any time,” I said steadily, leaning across the gap and reaching a hand out to him. Tom nodded, considering me once again.

“Agreed. Provided you understand that all payments will cease immediately in such an event. Naturally, I too reserve the right to end the arrangement at any time,” he stipulated, his expression acute and calculating.

I hesitated for a split second. Then, I allowed him to take my hand in his, sealing the deal. Tom grinned in satisfaction.

“Done,” he growled. 


	2. Chapter 2

I learned quickly that Tom is not a patient man. He gave me a grand total of two days breathing space between our ‘agreement’ and our first ‘date’. I also learned that Tom does not text. Ever. Which, of course, meant that I had to call him any time I wanted a chat- not that that was ever likely to happen voluntarily. His phone call concerning our date was curt and largely bare of instructions; all I had to do was be ready for 3pm sharp. I had no clue what he had in mind, or how long it was going to take. I woke up especially early the morning of, even though it was a Saturday, to get some much needed studying fitted in. I got so carried away that I completely forgot about lunch, and really anything but my assignment.

It wasn’t until I heard my flatmate, Saranya, staggering loudly into our cupboard-sized bathroom that I remembered: time. I dived for my phone and began hyperventilating when the digits 14:27 winked back at me. I was still in my raggedy Snoopy pajamas, my hair was in dire need of a thorough lathering and honestly, I couldn’t set foot outside the flat without a bit of makeup on my tired face.

“Saranya! Sara! Will you be long? I need in, I have to shower, now!” I yelled, banging on the thin bathroom door. I could hear Saranya retching as if I was standing right next to her. Just bloody fantastic. I had half an hour to make myself presentable to my (ahem) ‘boyfriend’. I chucked my already tattered dignity aside and shoved my way into the bathroom. Saranya was half-prone, clutching the toilet bowl like it was a life raft.

“Sorry, Sara, but I’m in such a rush!” I explained, frantically whipping my clothes off and jumping under the chilly spray.

“S’okay,” she grumbled in between upchuck. She’s an absolute gem, my Sara, nothing fazes her.

I don’t know how I did it, but at 14:56 I was almost ready; my hair was washed and blow dried (and looking rather nice, in my humble opinion), I was clean, and my makeup was, if not perfect, certainly a fair attempt. All I had left to do was get dressed. Normally, that would only take under four minutes, but of course, I had to wear a dress or a skirt. One glance at my array of four such pieces pertaining to Tom’s requirement told me that he would be less than impressed with my selection, no matter which I chose. I burst into Saranya’s room and begged the borrowing of another dress. She just groaned and pulled her duvet over her head. I took it as a ‘yes’.

A car horn sounded loudly outside my window just as I was hopelessly attempting to zip up the dress; it was a nice shade of candy pink, in a cute vintage cut. Very feminine. I hoped Tom would approve. After successfully conquering the zipper, I jammed on a few bits of jewellery, dug out a pair of plain ballet flats and legged it downstairs.

When I opened the door, I blinked in shock at the sleek, grey and extremely out of place car sitting in front of my apartment building. I could just about make out Tom sitting in the front seat, which also surprised me, for some reason. I had been expecting something chauffeur-driven for his lordship.

When I climbed into the passenger seat, I was hit by the smell of leather, money and whatever Tom’s spicy cologne was made of. Symbols dotted around the interior informed me that I was sitting inside a Jaguar, a brand even I, with my limited knowledge of cars, could appreciate.

“Hello, Tom,” I said, trying to sound cheerier than I felt. Tom simply inclined his head and regarded me coolly for a moment.

“Charlotte, tell me what time it is,” he instructed, sounding almost bored.

“It’s uh…oh-” I bit my lip anxiously “-it’s six minutes past three, Tom,” I replied, reluctant to point out my own lateness. I couldn’t fathom where those ten minutes had gone since I last checked my phone.

“And I instructed you to be ready…when, Charlotte?” That feeling of dread I had always associated with being told off by a teacher or my grandparents crept up my spine. I was in trouble.

“Three o’clock, Tom,” I said quietly, looking down at my lap.

“Three o’clock sharp. I don’t appreciate you keeping me waiting. You won’t do it again. Understood?” He didn’t even sound particularly angry; his tone was distinctly cold and detached. But I had a funny feeling that he was more pissed off than he was letting on. I decided that if he didn’t want to make a big fuss, I certainly wasn’t going to complain.

“Yes, Tom. I’m sorry, it wasn’t on purpose.” The engine roared to life. I quickly did up my seat belt, chancing a furtive glance at Tom as I did so. He wasn’t in a suit as before, but he wasn’t exactly dressed down either; he wore black suit trousers and a very tight white shirt, with the top two buttons opened and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showing off his lean forearms. It was…a pleasant sight, I decided. Even more so when he slid on a pair of RayBan Wayfarers; I had always loved them, but their shape didn’t really suit my face, and their price tag definitely didn’t suit my budget.

I really wanted to ask Tom where we were going, but I was too afraid that he would snap at me if I did, so I sat in silence, watching the streets of London blur past me. When we crossed the river at Vauxhall Bridge and zoomed along the Chelsea Embankment, I had an inkling as to where we were headed: King’s Road. An area I was sure Tom felt very at home in. Tom parked on-street, feeding a small fortune into the ticket machine. I always regarded anyone who drove in central London by choice as an absolute maniac, but each to their own, I suppose.

“We’ll start in here, I think. Then work our way up,” Tom said, striding towards a boutique without a backwards glance. Charming.

“Wait…uh, why are we going in there?” I asked in confusion. I had thought we would be going for lunch. My poor empty belly had thought so too; it gurgled miserably at the realisation that food wasn’t high on Tom’s agenda. Tom stopped dead in the middle of the pavement, and turned to me. He still had his sunglasses on, but my instinct told me that he was definitely glaring at me from behind them. The man was hard work; I couldn’t place what I had done wrong. Then it clicked.

“Oh, I’m sorry! Why are we going in there, Tom?” I amended, trying my best not to sound as cheeky as I felt.

“Because, Charlotte, we are shopping for clothes. And this is a clothes shop,” he explained, with overdone patience. The penny finally dropped; it was a women’s clothes shop. We were shopping for me. At least I wouldn’t have to borrow from Saranya anymore.

“Oh, I didn’t uh, realise that was what we were doing, Tom.” I followed him into the small boutique; it was sparsely, but artistically furnished. The rails were half empty, which I knew was code for ‘each of these garments costs more than my rent’.

“And what did you think we would be doing, Charlotte?” Tom began perusing the clothes by the window, examining each piece with care. He politely declined the help of a salesgirl, who actually bit her lip with suppressed desire as she walked away from him. I conceded that, yes, his bum did look rather well in those tight trousers.

“I suppose I thought we would be having something to eat, Tom.” So far, nothing had caught Tom’s eye, not even the pretty, baby blue mini skirt that I wouldn’t have minded trying on. His long fingers rifled ruthlessly through the hangers; I simply followed him like a shadow, passing no comment.

“That will be later on,” he said, several minutes after my last remark.

“Later on, Tom?” I fought hard to keep the edge of panic out of my voice. Admittedly, Tom wasn’t dallying in this shop, but we had the entirety of King’s Road to comb through, and after that he wanted to go for food? I resigned myself then and there to the fact that it was going to be a very long day.

“Yes, Charlotte. Is that a problem?” he enquired, his tone making it blatantly obvious that I had better not make it one. He stopped clothes hunting and took off his RayBans, looking at me properly for the first time that day. His eyes were as frighteningly piercing as I had remembered; I was tempted to turn away, or cover my vitals against his stare.

“No, Tom. Of course not.” He flashed a steely smile, appeased by my acquiescence, and returned to his task.

Ten long minutes later, I was inside an enormous, plush changing room, wriggling into a dress so expensive it didn’t even have a price on the label. It was the first of five dresses Tom had selected, all of them in luxe fabrics and bold colours- so unlike the pale unassuming shades I preferred. I begrudgingly noted that, contrary to my fears of being bedecked in overly-revealing clothes, all of the pieces were sexy in a subtle, classy sort of way. And the only leather in sight was the cream pouffe in the middle of the fitting room.

The first dress was a sleeveless wrap dress, which fell to just above my knee and dipped into a deep V at my chest. It was a lovely fit; the only problem was that it was red: fire-engine, phone box red. I had never worn anything red in my life, mainly because it clashed with my auburn (it’s not ginger, I swear) hair, and also because it was frankly a colour that drew way too much attention for my liking.

“Have you got one on yet?” Tom said from his place behind the curtain, as I slid on a pair of high heels. Thankfully, he hadn’t insisted on joining me while I changed.

“Yes, Tom.” I wasn’t keen on having to play dress up for his amusement, but there was no way I could afford to go out and buy my own brand-new wardrobe. The curtain flicked aside and Tom strode in; even though I was fairly certain men weren’t technically allowed in the fitting rooms, no one tried to stop him, unsurprisingly. I stood stiffly as Tom appraised me, scanning every inch from my feet to my head. I could officially tick off ‘being well and truly eye- fucked’ from my bucket list.

“Do you like it, Charlotte?” he asked, catching me off guard.

“Oh um…yes, it’s very nice, Tom,” I replied vaguely, fiddling with the bow at my waist. Tom raised an eyebrow, indicating that he didn’t buy my half-hearted response. “It’s just that…well, I like the shape a lot, but it’s red,” I explained tactfully. Tom tilted his head, curious.

“And you don’t like the colour red, Charlotte?”

“No, I don’t mind it. I just don’t think it suits me, Tom. With my hair and everything…” I said, lifting a lock of the offending hair for his inspection against the vibrant red. Tom simply walked over and grasped my bare shoulders, turning me to face the mirror. My skin erupted in goose bumps as his thumbs caressed my shoulder blades in a soothing motion through the soft fabric. Even with my impractically high heels, Tom had to lean down significantly to whisper in my ear.

“You look magnificent, Charlotte,” he rumbled, his lips brushing ever so slightly against the shell of my ear. I flushed and flinched simultaneously, my blood warmed by his voice and his touch.

“Do…do you really think so, Tom?” I stuttered, tripping over my words as Tom’s hands traced their way down my arms.

“I do, but if you are not comfortable wearing it, we will try something else,” he said, standing up straight and releasing my wrists from his grasp. He didn’t move away, but stood right behind me, watching me watching him in the mirror. I could hardly bare to make eye contact with his reflection- it was just as intimating as the real thing.

“Yes, yes…I think I will try something else, Tom,” I decided at last, eager to have him leave and allow me to reconstruct some of my sanity. He nodded, cast a final glance over me, and exited. I leaned my head against the mirror, letting the cool glass temper my blazing skin. My whirling thoughts, however, were entirely my own issue.

*

Two hours, twenty seven minutes, eight shops and thousands of pounds later, Tom judged me suitably stocked up, and declared ‘shopping time’ officially done. I too, was completely done; I wanted nothing more than to go home, collapse into bed and fall asleep to some crappy reality TV show. No such luck. Part two of the ‘date’ was just beginning.

We returned to Tom’s scary townhouse at six o’clock. He carried all of the shopping bags upstairs, declining my offer of assistance and ordering me to follow him. Every room I glanced into was furnished in the same manner, the style dictated by the three ‘Ms’: masculine, modern, and money.

My heart leapt in my throat as we arrived in what could only be the master bedroom. It was at least four times the size of my room, with a huge TV-stereo system built into one of the neutral-coloured walls, a trio of armchairs surrounding the black marble fireplace, and the pièce de résistance, an enormous bed dominating the back wall. The carved black posts rising from each corner of the bed did not escape my notice; Tom’s comment about his fondness for bondage explained that particular design feature perfectly. A vast mirror hung over the headboard, reflecting the array of deep blue and grey cushions, throws and pillows beneath it. A large black trunk rested at the foot of the bed- part of me was curious to know what was inside, another part of me insisted that I was better off in a state of ignorance.

Tom placed our purchases in a corner by the window, while I shamelessly scrutinized everything in his room. If it bothered him, he never said so.

“I’ll leave you to change for dinner. Join me downstairs when you are finished,” he instructed, sweeping from the room and shutting the door behind him. I eyed up that trunk again, and his bedside tables, too. My hand was literally on a drawer handle when I scolded myself for my nosiness- I wouldn’t appreciate someone snooping at my personal items, and I wasn’t going to do Tom that discourtesy. More to the point, I was frankly terrified of what I would find inside them.

I pulled off Saranya’s dress and dug my hand into one of the bags, settling for the first thing I grasped. It was a rich, royal blue dress with three-quarter sleeves and quite a short hem. It was also cut off the shoulder, which meant I really should have hoked through the underwear bag for the strapless bra I had picked earlier. The embarrassment I had experienced in the lingerie shop hadn’t subsided yet, so I just took off the bra I was wearing and hoped for the best. I knew I was being a tad melodramatic about it. Mercifully, Tom hadn’t even gone in with me, he simply paired me up with a sales assistant (whom he seemed to be on rather friendly terms with), and wandered off down the street, leaving us to it. Not that I had had any more free rein than when he was around- that sales assistant had been very enthusiastic, especially about the raciest, most intimidating pieces in the shop.

Dress on, heels on, and makeup retouched, I was ready to rock and roll. Not really, in truth I was bloody terrified; my legs wobbled as I walked carefully down the stairs in search of Tom. The smell of food seemed as good a lead as any, so I followed my nose through the big empty house and found Tom in the kitchen. Cooking.

I stood in the doorway, watching in amazement as he kneaded something with his long, agile fingers. A cobalt blue apron protected his pristine clothes, and he somehow managed to look attractive while wearing it, as opposed to ridiculous.

“Are you coming in?” he inquired, looking up at me. I must have made a bit of a racket negotiating the hardwood floors in my new heels. He paused his ministrations to admire me. I hesitantly moved into the room, unsure of where the place myself.

“You look beautiful, Charlotte,” Tom remarked, presenting me with a genuine smile. I blushed like a schoolgirl.

“Thank you, Tom. You have good taste,” I replied, resting against the island he was working at. His smile widened.

“Yes, I do,” he agreed, regarding me with a significant look in his eye. “Wine?” he offered, wiping his hands and reaching for a glass. He filled it and pushed it towards me, topping up his own. The red liquor was fruity and sweet, so far removed from the usual vinegar-like crap I drank.

“Sit up there, let your feet rest,” he instructed, indicating a bar stool that was considerably closer to him than my current position. I carefully manoeuvred myself up onto the high seat, adjusting the dress so that it covered a little more of my thighs, and tried to get comfortable. I watched Tom knead and roll the dough in silence, trying to guess what we were having. Honestly, I was surprised that he cooked, and slightly disappointed that we weren’t going out somewhere to eat. Staying in such close proximity to his bedroom seemed…foreboding.

“Do you prefer beef or chicken?” Tom asked suddenly, breaking me from my reverie about the sheer expanse of his bed.

“Oh, either is fine, Tom. I like them both,” I answered, merely feeling privileged to be eating meat at all- it was often far too expensive to be anything more than a weekly treat, at best.

“Chicken pie it is then. My favourite.” A smile crept upon my face at the fact that a millionaire’s favourite meal would be something so simple and humble. I would have guessed lobster, or caviar. Tom noticed my smile and looked at me questioningly, but I simply shook my head, not wanting to comment.

“This will take a while, Charlotte. Why don’t we get to know each other a little better, while we have the time?” He suggested, out of the blue. I didn’t like the sound of that, not one bit.

“Um, yes, alright, Tom. What did you want to know?” I watched him carefully, all of my nerves tensed for an invasive quizzing.

“Tell me about your family,” he commanded, not missing a beat. Of all the questions he could have asked, it had to be that one. I didn’t want to talk to this stranger about my family; it felt wrong, too close to the chest. I would have rather he asked me about my sexual history, and that is saying something.

“If you don’t mind, I would prefer not to, Tom,” I said firmly, gripping the stem of my wineglass for support. Tom fixed me with one of his intense stares. I returned it, to demonstrate that I wasn’t going to back down so easily this time.

“I do mind. I would like to know more about you, and your family is surely an integral part of doing so,” he pushed demandingly. I bit into my upper lip.

“Well, I don’t want to talk about it, so you’ll have to ask something else.” I sounded simultaneously defensive and aggressive. Anyone else would have backed off, and changed topic. Not Tom. He raised his eyebrows, glaring at me disapprovingly.

“Charlotte, you are dancing a fine line here-”

“No, you are,” I snapped. Tom inhaled sharply, his nostrils flaring angrily. His left hand curled into a fist where it lay on the countertop.

“You have just broken three separate parts of our agreement,” he remarked curtly, attempting to control his rapidly depleting tolerance.

“Which three?” I asked in confusion. Tom’s lips had formed such a thin line that they had almost disappeared entirely.

“I told you that you must always address me properly, which you have forgone thrice now. You also interrupted me, which I do not tolerate, and you are being extremely impolite to me,” he said sternly, his brows knitted angrily together. Technically, he was right, but I had good reason; he was trying to push me into discussing something I didn’t want to, and that was not part of our ‘agreement’.

“Alright, that’s all true. But I never agreed to tell you anything about myself, Tom. You have no right to demand that I tell you things that are, frankly, none of your business.” I thought I saw a vein twitch on his forehead.

“You are, to all intents and purposes, my girlfriend. So you see, my dear Charlotte, I do have a right to know these things about you.” Tom’s voice was low and dangerous, warning me that any semblance of patience on his part was fading mighty fast. I decided to try reasoning with him; I knew a full-blown argument wouldn’t end well.

“Tom, I am not being impolite or purposefully difficult, there are other topics I will happily discuss with you. But not this one. Our arrangement states that you have my time and my…body, but you can’t claim all of my thoughts and feelings, too,” I explained, purposefully keeping my tone neutral and my expression blank, demonstrating my determination to end the thread of discussion once and for all.

Tom’s eyes narrowed sharply, and his jaw moved in a peculiar manner, revealing his bottom row of teeth. I braced myself for a sharp retort, but he merely exhaled a long breath and resumed preparing our dinner. I could barely believe that I had emerged victorious.

“Where did you go to school?” Tom asked, not even looking up at me. It seemed that I was, indeed, the victor. I mentally patted myself on the back, and answered all of the remaining questions he fired my way without hesitation.

I had expected dinner conversation to be stilted, especially after our little lovers’ quarrel, but Tom was remarkably open, telling me about his childhood, his education (Eton and Cambridge, exactly as I had suspected), and even his family. I was genuinely surprised when he told me that his father was from a working-class Glasswegian family, a man, it seemed, who had passed his drive and ambition onto his son. Tom also touched on his work briefly; I learned that at the age of thirty-two, he already had his own highly successful legal firm in the City, an impressive feat. He wasn’t a tedious workaholic though; he informed me that he had a fondness for music, dancing, and the Classics, particularly anything to do with Ancient Greece. Actually, he had a great many interests: cars, cooking, fashion, travel and, of course, sex. Well, he didn’t bring that last one up at the dinner table (thankfully), but I knew it to be true nonetheless.

We cleansed our palates with a dessert of berry sorbet. It was deliciously refreshing, but an odd combination with the stodgy chicken pie, I thought. Not that I could have stomached a sticky toffee pudding, though God knows I would’ve tried valiantly if one had been placed before me. My spoon had barely clanged at the bottom of the empty bowl when Tom stood abruptly, loping around to my side of the table in a flash and towering over me. I stared up at him warily, slowly rising to my feet. Tom’s stance, and the hungry look on his face told me that perhaps the sorbet hadn’t been dessert after all.

I balked slightly when Tom reached a hand out, brushing my hair away from my bare neck and shoulders. His fingertips ghosted over my stark collarbones, and skimmed up my throat to my chin, the long digits fanning out over my jaw. My lungs burned from my forgetfulness; breathing seemed like a superfluous idea in that instant. I regarded his lips with tunnel vision as they drew closer and closer, his pointed tongue sneaking out to wet them, serpent-like. I had braced myself for a vicious onslaught, a mashing of mouths and a gnashing of teeth. But Tom’s lips, although insistent, were soft as they moved languorously against my own, inviting and urging me to participate. His hands, having snuck their way unnoticed to my lower back, coaxed my body closer to his taut frame. My hands, acting of their own volition, found his biceps as his tongue found mine. The intensity was overwhelming; the taste and touch and smell of him invaded my mind, ousting all thought and reason.

“Was everything to your liking, Charlotte?” Tom enquired in a hushed tone, his smooth voice more rough and ragged than usual as we separated to catch our breath. I giggled giddily at his double entendre.

“Yes, it was. Thank you, Tom,” I replied, fighting to keep my own voice level. He pulled me tighter still, his name becoming half a yelp as my hip was made aware of just how excited he already was. He peered down his long nose at me, his deep blue eyes hooded as they watched my response to his careful, seductive movements. My blood and my body reacted, sending forward a rush of warmth and wetness. Tom must have had a sexual sixth sense, or perhaps I was blatantly obvious in my desire. Certainly, he wasted no time with words of enticement.

“Upstairs, now,” he said huskily, seizing my hand and hurrying us both from the kitchen, in hot pursuit of his bedroom. The wine may have dulled my senses, or maybe it was the lust. Or both. Whatever it was, it had shredded my inhibitions and fed them to the wind. I should have been repulsed at the situation, repulsed by my own eagerness to sleep with someone who was paying me (albeit by the month rather than the hour), but when I searched for that emotion as I impetuously followed Tom, it was conspicuously absent. All I found was desire.


	3. Chapter 3

Tom was like a hurricane, ravaging me and ripping my clothes from me at a lightning fast pace. As I said, he’s an impatient man.

When he walked me backwards across his room, I had expected to feel the thick mattress depressing beneath me, but it never came. We stopped in the middle of nowhere, touching nothing but each other.

“Turn around,” Tom ordered, his baritone voice sounding even deeper. My skin prickled and shivered, but I did as I was told. The metallic whir of a zip unsnarling sliced through the heavy air; Tom’s fingers probed and slid along the bumps and dips of my spine, making me simultaneously giggle and rub my thighs together. Tom nudged the sleeves down my arms, freeing me from the confines of the unwieldy jacquard fabric. He spun me by my shoulders, his heavy eyelids dipping in acknowledgement of my near-nakedness.

Tom wove his fingers round my scalp, gripping vigorously and pulling my head to the side as his lips ambushed my throat. His shirt was soft beneath my fingertips, but I knew that his skin would be softer still. I shakily popped each of the buttons from their little pits, moving as hastily as I could against the mind-numbing barrage that had spread from my neck to my exposed breasts. I almost lost my way when Tom’s tongue rasped against a pebbled nipple, before he sucked it into his warm wet mouth. If anything, the things he was doing only encouraged me to hurry up and get him naked.

“Eager, are we?” Tom murmured fiendishly, migrating to nip and suck at my earlobe. My eyes rolled back in surrender, but my hands continued with their mission. When I undid the final button, Tom wrenched away from me, dropping the shirt from his muscled shoulders in one elegant motion.

I didn’t have nearly enough time to admire his lean, pale torso before he swooped down on me again; nipping, licking, kissing as he swept his arm under my legs, and quite literally knocked me off my feet. My arse collided with a leather cushion, and I was pinned against the back of a chair as Tom hovered over me. A sudden urge gripped me, to explore his body while I had the chance. Tom grunted deliciously when my nails scratched against the gaps between his ribs. He bit my lower lip viciously when I pressed my fingers into the twin dimples at the bottom of his spine; I revelled in the feel of his narrow hips between my palms, enjoying the sharp ‘V’ of his jutting bones.

Tom’s hand caught mine as it began an exploration of the hair below his navel. I may have pouted, just a little. Tom’s face came back into view, giving my neck and décolletage a much-needed rest from his enthusiastic attentions. His pupils were very wide, almost eclipsing the slate-blue crescents surrounding them. We were both heaving and fighting for breath.

“Charlotte…Charlotte…” There was a twinge of hesitation in Tom’s voice, an uncertainty that I hadn’t thought a man such as he could possess.

“Charlotte, I want…to tie you up. Will you let me?” I wavered, my mind immediately going into panic mode at the thought of being restrained by someone I had only known for two days. It seemed far too sudden, absurd, really… but then, our entire ‘relationship’ was absurd from start to finish. Plus, I was so turned on, and Tom was looking at me with that penetrating sex stare again. The simple answer should have been: ‘No, Tom. Not tonight.’ But I couldn’t make my mouth form the words. Tom pounced on my indecisiveness, speaking in a low and compelling tone.

“Only your wrists, for now. Look-” He leaned away, drawing a lovely deep blue tie from a drawer and holding it up for my inspection. I had been expecting ropes, or something equally as ghastly. The tie was silky and smooth as I slid it across my hands and through my fingers. I could feel Tom watching me carefully, willing me to acquiesce. “I can knot it in such a way that you’ll be able to pull yourself free, if you so wish,” he murmured quietly, taking the tie back in his strong hands. I reached towards him, wrists up, signalling that I wanted a demonstration. Tom clasped my hands, pressing my wrists together and began looping the tie in a complicated bind.

“There, try undoing it,” he instructed, after a few minutes of careful work. I frowned, trying several manoeuvres before the fabric started to give, eventually slipping clean off my skin with relative ease. I was pretty impressed. Tom was buzzing with anticipation, his eyes burning bright.

“Yes, Tom…but only if you do it exactly that way again,” I whispered shyly, scarcely able to believe that I was willingly consenting to bondage. I kissed my vanilla reputation goodbye. Tom’s face split into a delighted grin. I felt I had made the right choice.

“Good,” he purred, pressing an urgent kiss against my lips as he tenderly moved my arms behind the back of the chair. “Our safe word will be… ‘red’. If at any point you absolutely want me to stop, you must say it. Do you understand?” I had never used a safe word before, frankly the concept confused me- what was wrong with a simple ‘no’, or ‘stop!’ I expressed this to Tom. He shook his head emphatically.

“Often, in these situations, a person will say ‘no’ or ‘stop’ without actually meaning it. They can be used as expressions of enjoyment or simply knee-jerk responses. That is why an agreed safe word is vital, Charlotte.” He explained all of this while crouched behind me, skilfully re-binding my wrists. I stared at the ceiling, wondering how in heaven’s name I had gotten myself into such a predicament, and why I was barely even fazed by it.

“Is that alright?” Tom enquired when he had finished. I shifted and tugged a little at my bonds; they were neither so tight as to be uncomfortable, nor so loose as to make the whole exercise superfluous.

“Yes, Tom,” I replied, my veins and nerves fizzing with excitement at what would come next. Tom stalked around to stand in front of me, his hungry eyes roving admiringly over my almost completely naked body. I vaguely noted that he was still severely overdressed, but there was nothing I could do about it. The realisation of my own powerlessness hit me soundly, and I began to appreciate why exactly bondage was considered an erotic act.

Tom leaned forward, gripping the arms of the chair and boxing me in, his nose nearly touching my own. I desperately wanted him to kiss me again. The expression on his face had shifted from careful and considerate to dark and domineering. My heart fluttered, anticipating his first move. Seconds passed, miniature eternities of silence and inaction. I began to wonder if he was going to do anything at all.

Suddenly, he grasped my thighs, pushing them apart and holding them tightly in place. He kissed me once again, but only briefly, before he began peppering kisses and licks over my jaw, descending to the tender, ticklish skin on my neck. His thumbs pressed insistently onto the insides of my thighs, occasionally tracing swirls and patterns on my sensitive flesh. He had me panting like a madwoman in mere minutes. I could practically feel him smirking against my neck. For the sake of my pride, I tried to quieten down my reactions, but Tom was wise to my plan.

“Don’t be shy now, Charlotte. I want to hear you moaning my name over and over…and I promise you will,” he whispered darkly. As if to prove his point, a wanton whimper escaped me when he pressed his warm lips against a particular spot at the base of my neck that made my brain glitch. I cursed myself as Tom chuckled, latching his mouth onto that point and sucking the skin mercilessly, pausing only to scrape his teeth across what I was sure would become one hell of a love bite. My hands were twisting together behind me, eager to touch his smooth broad back, while my hips began to buck slightly of their own accord. I closed my eyes, revelling in the feel of Tom’s mouth plundering my delicate skin, no doubt leaving little red welts dotted over the pale surface.

At last, Tom decided to pay attention to the one part of me that had, thus far, been sorely neglected. A cautious fingertip traced up and down my slit, creating delicious friction through the damp fabric of my decidedly unsexy knickers. Tom hummed contentedly, speeding up his movements and making me impossibly wetter.

“You certainly are enjoying this, aren’t you?” His other hand moved to cup each of my breasts in turn, pinching and rolling the nipples more harshly than before. The intensity of the combined sensations became too much; I threw away my prior resolve, moaning and gasping freely as Tom hooked a finger into the band of my knickers and began tugging them down. I channelled my dwindling focus into lifting my hips just enough to help him slip the garment off. He flung them unceremoniously over his shoulder, rocking back on his heels and observing me shrewdly as he considered his next move. I huffed in a most unladylike manner when he removed his hands from my body; half fearing that he would just leave me in a state of desperation and near meltdown.

“Charlotte, would you like to cum?” he asked, almost politely. What kind of question is that? Obviously I bloody well wanted to cum, I hadn’t let him tie me up and feel me up just for the laughs. Naturally, I knew better than to say something so snarky while in such a… delicate position.

“Yes, Tom,” I replied, trying to conceal the edge of desperation tainting my voice.

“You’ll have to ask me nicely, then.” There was that damn smirk again, returning to rile me up and stir me up. I blinked in bewilderment, not understanding quite what he meant. My past conquests hadn’t been too worried about whether I came full stop, let alone wanting me to ‘ask nicely’ for it.

“Beg. Me.” Tom enunciated each word sharply so that there could be no more confusion on my part. The way his voice rasped told me that the entire performance was as much for his enjoyment as mine. At that point I was willing to do whatever it took to get off. The sooner, the better.

“Please, Tom…please make me cum,” I implored, trying to look and sound as enticing as possible. Tom didn’t react immediately, so I geared myself up for more shameless begging. Before I could humiliate myself further, he surged forward, gripping my thighs again.

“With pleasure,” he growled, moving his right hand up my inner thigh swiftly and rubbing against my slick folds with renewed vigour. I took up another litany of moans, rising to arias as a single finger dipped into my core, distributing the sticky wetness up to my throbbing clit. Another few seconds focussed right there and I could have been soaring at last. Unfortunately, Tom was eager to drag the torment out a while longer. His finger moved down and, without warning, slid inside me up to the knuckle. I shrieked at the sudden intrusion, half in pleasure and half in discomfort; his finger was long and thick, especially compared to my own digits, which were the only action my poor lady parts had had for many months.

“Oh…oh…fuck, Tom!” I gasped, undulating my hips and riding his hand as he pulsed his finger in and out at a leisurely pace, quickly adding another for good measure.

“Ooh, I didn’t know you had such a dirty mouth, Charlotte. I like it,” he taunted, grasping my chin and running his thumb along said mouth, stroking in time with the movements of his other, southerly hand. I was so close, I could feel my legs starting to jitter in anticipation of my impending orgasm. Tom’s hand sped up, pumping in and out rapidly, his fingers curling inside me and hitting starburst-inducing points with every thrust. Almost there…

Suddenly, inexplicably, Tom slowed his ministrations, resuming the languid pace that he had started with. I could feel my orgasm beginning to drift away, no matter how desperately I tried to drag it back. I whined petulantly at the unfairness of it all, of being robbed of impending pleasure. Tom laughed in response, teasingly pressing his thumb against my clit for a bare few seconds.

“What is it, Charlotte?” The bastard asked mockingly.

“Tom…ugh, please just…will you let me cum?” Tom’s fingers quickened suddenly, driving me insane all over again. I almost wept when his pace lagged for the second time.

“I simply want to make your pleasure last for as long as possible, my dear Charlotte,” Tom said softly, sounding nearly generous, if you discounted the fact that he was blatantly tormenting me, “Delayed gratification makes the whole experience far more enjoyable… Do you know how long I plan to keep you teetering on the brink?”

“No, Tom,” I whined, squirming helplessly against my bonds. I could have broken free of course, but that would have meant kissing any chance of orgasm goodbye. Tom allowed for a dramatic pause before answering his own question.

“Six minutes,” he whispered in my ear, leaning back to look at me and smirking devilishly at my horrified expression. Six whole minutes of torture.

“You’re –ah- evil…Tom!” I gasped, as he skilfully flexed and twisted his fingers, pushing me closer and closer before drawing back infinitesimally, just enough to keep me reaching, but far enough to stop me attaining what I so desperately wanted.

“Perhaps this will motivate you to be more punctual in future, hmmm?” He hummed smugly. I stared heavenwards, my eyelids beginning to flicker frantically, like moth wings. Tom’s teeth revisited that little pleasure-point on my neck, ensuring that the mark would be virtually indelible. I dazedly wondered how much longer I had to suffer. My mind began to fuzz around the edges as Tom continued the game of onslaught and retreat with his fingers. I tried to guess how many minutes I had left to endure, but I had only managed to count about sixteen seconds before a particularly emphatic curl of Tom’s digits wiped all of the little numbers from my head. I didn’t bother trying to count after that- I was too busy trying to stay mentally afloat as my body thrummed with escalating arousal.

Tom actually consulted his watch. I kid you not; he wasn’t going to let me off by even a second, the bloody tyrant. When I noticed him checking it, I had a sudden violent urge to punch him in the face, with his big ugly watch wrapped around my knuckles. I’m not a violent person, not in the slightest, but Tom’s persistent teasing was screwing me up big time.

“Less than a minute now, Charlotte…” Tom whispered raggedly, brushing strands of sweat-soaked hair back from my forehead. It could have been an act of kindness, telling me how long I had left, but by that stage I had lost any concept of time.

“Time’s up,” Tom growled abruptly, as his fingers began thrusting into me with abandon and, wondrously, continuing to do so. His thumb hovered, tantalizing close, over my clit. Loud, wailing, incoherent sounds poured from my lips, trying to urge him to finish me.

“Charlotte. Charlotte.” I dragged my meandering attention back to the beautiful demon crouched before me; his eyes were wide, as black and glassy as flints of obsidian. The bones of his face seemed more pronounced, angles sharp enough to cut glass. Some part of me recalled that his jaw had moved in that peculiar way before, at a faint point in the past.

“Charlotte. Say my name. Say my name…” He hissed and barked and growled all at once. I needed no encouragement; I latched on to those three perfect letters like a drowning woman, chanting them over and over like a litany. He bared his teeth, and pressed down on my clit, mercifully rubbing and circling just as I had been forever wishing he would. I continued my mantra, reciting his name over and over without pause, like a snake-charmer trying to keep their slippery companion swaying and weaving.

Finally, finally, with a wonderful twist and drag of Tom’s talented fingers, I unravelled. I had never experienced an orgasm like it; in fact, I was tempted to discard anything that I had previously considered to be an orgasm, because they hadn’t felt even remotely like what I encountered in those twelve seconds of euphoria. I soared and fell; I whirled and twirled high up in the air. My blood sang and my nerves danced. It was how I imagined being high must feel like, but sharper and superior in every way.

“Charlotte, how do you feel? Are you alright?” A voice in the distance, sounding as though it came from the end of a tunnel, pervaded my tender psyche. The repetition of my own name brought me slowly back down, each utterance acting as a piece of lead fastened around my ankles. My sight re-engaged, and I saw the demon again. Or was it actually an angel, after all?

Tom stroked my hair as he reached his other hand down to untie me. I faintly felt the fabric untangling from my wrists; my nerves were so wrecked that sensations faltered to register properly. Tom repeated his questions. I didn’t know how to answer, in all honesty. I definitely wasn’t ‘alright’, it was so paltry a word, it couldn’t hope to express how I felt.

“Good…I feel great…no, that’s not eh…Tom?” Evidently, my ability to speak was another casualty. Tom massaged my wrists and hands, coaxing the blood to redistribute properly. The prickling pins and needles gave my senses a much-needed jolt.

“Don’t worry, it’s normal for your mind to seem a little strange when you come back from sub space. You’ll become more used to it, in time,” he assured me. I wasn’t sure what or where ‘sub space’ was, but if it was anything to do with that exquisite trip I had just experienced, I wanted to be there as often as possible.

“Stand,” Tom commanded, helping me up and anchoring me with an arm across my back when I teetered slightly. His chest was heaving almost as much as mine.

Tom pulled me flush against him, my tender breasts pressed up against the hard planes of his stomach. He had clearly enjoyed tormenting me; the proof was making itself known against my hip through his trousers. Quid pro quo- I had had my gratification, and I knew that he would want his, too.

“That was…amazing, Tom,” I whispered, my voice hoarse after so much shrieking and whining. Tom leered down at me, his lips curving into a wicked grin.

“That was just the appetiser, dear Charlotte.”


	4. Chapter 4

We started off the morning after with a bit of a lover’s tiff. Tom insisted that I stay for breakfast ‘at least’, and I insisted that I had to go home immediately to catch up on uni work. I knew rightly that staying for breakfast would no doubt lead to having a shower, which would lead to more sex, which would lead to me staying with him all day. Besides, the thought of trying to affably spend the morning together, as if we were actually boyfriend and girlfriend, made my skin crawl. I could only pretend for him so much. I felt suffocated; it had only been one whole day, but I was tired of him, tired of his fancy, intimidating house, and tired of how I felt constantly on edge around him. I needed to get out.

I dressed quickly and bolted from the house, leaving a somewhat disgruntled Tom alone in that big scary bed. In my eagerness to leave, I left most of the clothes he had purchased for me behind as well, although I was frankly glad to distance myself from them and the implications woven into every scrap of over-priced fabric.

My excuse about a pressing workload hadn’t been entirely true; in reality, I went home and cried into my pillow, then cried in the shower, cried over a tub of cheap ice cream, and then cried myself to sleep. I am such a cliché. I think I actually ran out of tears by Monday morning, my eyes just burned like they had sand in them all day, no matter how many eye drops I poured into them.

There was no two ways of looking at it: I was a bona fide hooker, an actual (albeit slightly glorified) prostitute. Charlotte the Harlot. I used to be a leader in the Girl’s Brigade for God sake, what happened? I lay wide awake on Sunday night, tormenting myself imagining what my Grandpa would say if he knew, what my Gran would think if she found out the truth behind my miraculous ‘job’. I made myself sick with guilt. Were my morals so cheap that I would sell them for £5000 a month? Did I have no sense of self-worth? It had only been three days, but I was certain that I had made a huge, life-altering mistake. I felt as though I was falling into a dark abyss of panic and misery and all-round negativity.

Nonetheless, I staggered groggily out of bed at six o’clock on Monday morning as usual, and forced myself to face the day.

*

I studiously dodged Tom’s persistent phone calls all day, knowing that I would end up paying for it eventually. He tried again on Tuesday, and again I avoided him. On Wednesday, he left a voicemail, which I promptly deleted. I felt a strange sort of power by ignoring him. Evasion and delusion meant that the guilt stopped gnawing at my mind every waking moment.

Nothing on Thursday, not a peep. I thought, for just a brief moment, that I had been victorious.

On Friday afternoon, the text came. He actually broke his cardinal rule and sent a text. It was serious stuff.

Charlotte, call me immediately. Tom.

I didn’t call him ‘immediately’, obviously. I walked the whole way home, screaming internally for a solid fifty minutes and trying to figure out what the hell I should do. I couldn’t think of anything.

So I got drunk, of course.

I’ve never understood why people say you shouldn’t drink alone, it’s great. I am fantastic company. I lay horizontal in my fluffiest jammies, eating Nutella with a spoon and knocking back Jack Daniels (left over from Sara’s last riotous house party) while watching Breaking Bad. It was a great Friday night, to be honest. I had the flat all to myself, since Sara had decided to be all weird and sociable.

After an hour of my party-for-one, I was quite sozzled. So, naturally, I answered my phone when it rang, assuming it would be Nana or Sara. Big mistake.

“At long last, Charlotte.” My poor sluggish brain knew something was off, but what was it? Why were alarm bells ringing at the sound of that cool voice? Why did it sound so familiar? Why was it angry…?

“Fuck, Tom!” I shrieked, leaping upright and knocking my little feast to the floor. I had already finished the JD, so mercifully none was wasted.

“Hello to you, too.” I was screwed, I knew that even while in my drunken state.

“Uhh….uh, yes! Hi Tom! How are you?” I babbled, starting to run rings around my sofa to burn off some of the nervous energy.

“I’m not very good, Charlotte. Not good at all.”

“Oh no! Why?” As soon as the words came out of my mouth, I remembered exactly why he wasn’t too happy. Trust me to put my foot right in it.

“Well, Charlotte I’ll tell you. The woman who is supposed to be my girlfriend has been completely ignoring me all week. And considering our special little arrangement, I am understandably, rather pissed off with her.” He sounded very growly and angsty to my tipsy ears.

“Oooh, she sounds like a right bitch!” I giggled stupidly, oh-so amused by my own wit. Tom, not so much.

“Charlotte, are you drunk?” He sounded a little surprised. Am I really that boring?

“As a skunk!” I slurred, flopping back down on the sofa. The room was spinning like a top. I laughed hysterically for no apparent reason. I could vaguely make out Tom trying to catch my attention, repeatedly calling my name. That reminded me of something.

“Wow, you say my name a lot. You said it all the time that night…uh, when was it again? When we had sex? That’s right isn’t it, it was you-”

“Charlotte.”

“Ooh there you go again! You’re like a broken…record, thing.” Being drunk made me less afraid of Tom, and more entertained at the prospect of riling him up. I may have been over-acting, just a little.

Tom sighed, thoroughly fed up with my antics.

“There really is no point in me talking to you while you’re in this state. But we’re going out for dinner tomorrow night, eight o’clock,” he said brusquely.

“Says who?” I mocked, definitely pushing my luck.

“Says me. Be ready at eight o’clock. Do not be late. Remember what happened last time you kept me waiting.” Then he hung up. I was rather pleased with my victory. I had thoroughly pissed him off; it felt good to have beaten him, for once, to leave him feeling like the weaker party.

“Haha! I win!” I crowed with delight to my invisible, adoring audience.

“We’ll see, Charlotte. We shall see,” warned the voice in my ear. I screamed and threw my phone across the room. Apparently, he hadn’t hung up when I thought. I didn’t bother to retrieve my phone. I collapsed on my bed instead, and conked out almost immediately.

**

Sometimes alcohol makes you forget absolutely everything that has happened the previous night, allowing you to experience that special brand of terror as you attempt to re-piece your evening and find out whether or not you have destroyed your life and all future chance of happiness.

After puking twice and popping a couple of paracetamol, I bent my poor aching mind to the gargantuan task of trying to remember what in the name of holy hell Tom and I had discussed for exactly two minutes and sixteen seconds (according to my call log). I knew that I had been drunk and obnoxiously annoying, and I was fairly certain Tom had been sober and obnoxious. I did remember that I had majorly pissed him off; I rewarded that proud memory with several chocolate digestives and a cuppa. Putting together the pieces of the (no doubt painful) conversation ran against a dead-end around lunchtime, so I gave up and got down to some much needed studying. Call me a geek, but I love studying, it allows no room for outside thoughts or distractions, no matter how pressing.

I lurched awake just before seven o’clock, having taken an impromptu ‘power nap’, which may or may not have totalled over four hours. The words ‘date’ and ‘eight o’clock’ flickered insistently through my subconscious. Thank God I had, somewhere in the deep recess of my brain, actually been listening to whatever orders Tom had been barking at me. I sprang into action, piling on my plates of armour and readying myself for my adversary arriving at 8pm- sharp.

***

Tom couldn’t have chosen a worse night to take me to a seafood restaurant. The mere sight and smell of the food wafting around the restaurant was enough to make me gag before we had even ordered. Combined with the anxiety of being in his presence after my week of astonishing rebellion, it was a miracle I didn’t vomit over my designer dress.

I had been waiting just inside the door of my building for several minutes when I heard the distinctive roar of the Jag’s engine. I was in the passenger seat, all buckled up and ready to go before Tom had even put the handbrake on. I tried not to let the smugness show on my face.

“Good evening, Charlotte,” he said, not even turning to look at me, instead pulling out onto the road and stamping on the accelerator a little more enthusiastically than I deemed necessary. If I had any doubts as to whether he would still be annoyed about my week-long antics, his sang froid had just given me the answer: affirmative. I suppose I could have attempted to make things better, but my hangover was making me unusually petulant. I forced out a similarly tight greeting and spent the the first few minutes of the drive counting how many people were wearing crocs on the busy London streets (a startling number, if you’d like to know).

The silence was painfully unbearable. Some people can cope with awkward silences, the tension rolls off them like water off a duck’s back. Not me. My hands were damp with sweat, and I couldn’t stop fidgeting. For the first few minutes, I was rather hopeful that Tom, being his usual domineering self, would see fit to strike up a conversation. But sadly, no. In fact, the bastard turned off the radio, no doubt in order to emphasise how gut-wrenchingly quiet it was. My fidgeting became more and more frantic, and I knew I was going to crack first.

“Tom?” I begin hesitantly, watching his expression to try and gauge just how screwed I really was.

“Yes, Charlotte?” He had acknowledged me, at least, but his tone was still clipped and it certainly wasn’t encouraging me to continue the conversation. I lapsed back into momentary silence.

“Tom, I’m really sorry for ignoring you during the week, and for anything I may have said on Friday night, I was just…drunk and I was being stupid and uh…sorry.” The words of my garbled half-apology just spewed out, unfortunately reminding me of the actual vomit I had expelled earlier that day. I closed my eyes against the rising wave of nausea, and Tom’s potential response. I peeped at him through one eye, like a coward. His profile was as strict and unmoving as granite. It was as if I hadn’t even spoken.

“Tom? Tom…Tom, please talk to me! I said I was sorry, and I just- seriously, I can’t cope with the awkwardness-”

“You want me to talk to you, Charlotte?” he enquired politely, weaving through the City traffic like a pro.

I sighed, none too subtly. “Yes, Tom.”

He began to laugh, a deep, mirthless sound that made me feel even more uneasy than the silent treatment had.

“Why- why are you laughing, Tom?” I asked warily, certain that I wouldn’t appreciate the answer.

“I am laughing, dear Charlotte, because you are very funny.” His voice turned into a humourless growl on the final word. I didn’t dare ask for an explanation. As it turned out, I didn’t need to.

“I am laughing because for the past five days I have attempted to talk to you on numerous occasions and you have persistently ignored me. Yet now, after only five minutes together, you are absolutely overcome with the desire to speak with me. I do so appreciate the irony, my dear Charlotte,” he said, his tone twisted with vicious sarcasm. A vein snaked across his temple, mirroring another darting across the side of his neck. My eyes flickered uneasily between the two, their imposing presence reiterating his evident fury.

“I’m sorry, Tom. I really am. I just-”

“Not now, Charlotte, we’re almost there,” he said tersely. I bit my lip and stared studiously out the window, blinking back tears. We turned into a small side street, and Tom manoeuvred into a tight parking space, all in dead silence. I closed my eyes and wished that I was at home. But even clicking my red heels together didn’t help. Tom opened my car door and led me into the (predictably) fancy restaurant.

“Hiddleston. Table for two.”

“Right this way, Sir, Madam,” said the amiable waiter, guiding us to a candlelit table in a sheltered corner of the room. The kind man went to pull my chair out, but Tom beat him to it, and requested the wine list in a less-than-polite manner. The poor waiter bustled off, no doubt wondering what he had done wrong. I wished I could run away from Tom, too. Perhaps I should have been tickled by his chivalry as he pushed my chair in, but the knowledge that he was angry beneath that calm façade gnawed away at my already frayed nerves.

Neither of us uttered a word until the waiter had returned with the wine list, rhymed off the specials, and scuttled off after being tersely dismissed by Tom.

“That was rude,” I blurted out, taking us both by surprise. If there’s one thing I cannot abide, it’s people being rude to waiters or sales assistants. Frankly, anyone working with the general public on a daily basis deserves a medal, in my opinion.

“Excuse me?”

“The way you spoke to that waiter- it was rude, Tom,” I replied obstinately, determined not to be bullied by him. If he was going to be an arse to the waiter all night, I’d leave right then and there. Tom looked as though he couldn’t decide whether to be angry, shocked, or amused at my outburst.

“Well, you are a leading expert in rudeness, aren’t you Charlotte?” he retorted, sneakily reverting the issue back to me. Bloody solicitors.

“Tom, I said I was sorry-”

“Yes, you did. However, the fact remains that you broke one of the key components of our agreement, Charlotte. Have you forgotten it already?” he enquired, tilting his head with mock-curiousity. Of course I hadn’t forgotten, the entirety of our first meeting was seared into my memory.

“‘If I feel you are avoiding me, there will be consequences.’” I surprised him for the second time that evening, repeating his own words verbatim.

“Ah, so you do remember. Then I must ask, what exactly is your excuse for doing what I specifically told you not to?” His voice pitched low with irritation, and he leaned towards me over the table. I unconsciously sat back, prompting him to smile ferally at my obvious unease.

Mercifully, the kind waiter reappeared at that precise moment to take our order. Tom attempted several times throughout dinner to get an answer to his question, but my skill at dodging things that made me uncomfortable was out in full force. I almost made it the whole through the entire meal unscathed, almost.

“Charlotte?”

“Yes, Tom?” I responded tightly, anticipating another attack.

“Would you like some?” he asked, gesturing to the mouth-watering chocolate fondant before him. I was instantly suspicious of his apparently kind gesture, but the dessert looked damn good. My love of chocolate won out.

“Uh…yes, Tom. Thank you.” I blushed profusely as he fed me a gooey piece off his spoon, conscious that someone may be watching. The only person watching me was Tom, his piercing eyes almost boring holes into my already tender head. The fondant was bloody incredible, I actually had to stifle a moan. Tom licked his lips, still watching me in that unsettling manner of his.

“Would you like one, Tom?” I asked shyly, nudging my plate of petit fours towards him.

“Yes please, Charlotte,” he replied, making no move to reach out and take one of the little treats. He looked at them, then up at me expectantly. I cursed inwardly, realising that he wanted me to feed him. I selected a small square of vanilla fudge and hesitantly reached up, popping it into his open mouth as fast as possible. I wasn’t quick enough, he caught my fingers between his teeth, licking and sucking my fingertips. My breath hitched, my body instantly humming with warm arousal as our eyes locked. He had an embarrassingly powerful effect on me; I was like a deer caught in the headlights. A sharp nip of his teeth jolted me back to Earth.

“No!” I half-shouted, wrenching my hand from his mouth and dramatically cradling it against my chest. A few nosey heads turned in our direction. Tom’s brows shot up his marbled forehead, demanding an explanation for my outburst.

“I-I’m sorry Tom, I just…I feel like…” I was mumbling and twisting my hands in my lap like a child.

“What is the matter, Charlotte?” Tom asked in clipped tones, his patience finally worn out. God, it was so embarrassing. My cheeks and neck blazed with heat.

“I think that we…it was too much, too fast, Tom. It freaked me out. It’s been freaking me out all week!” I blurted out, feeling a slight weight lift after my confession. Tom’s eyes widened a fraction, but his expression remained under tight control as always. He ran a finger along his slim lips, watching me thoughtfully.

“Why did you not tell me this before?” he enquired.

“I was too embarrassed, Tom.”

“Are you embarrassed now?”

“Yes, Tom I am embarrassed!” I snapped, infuriated by his invasive questioning. Tom simply regarded me coolly.

“In future, you will tell me if you are upset or discomfited by something, especially if it involves me,” he commanded, after a prolonged stare-off.

“Yes, alright Tom,” I agreed hurriedly, wanting to end the conversation as soon as possible.

“And what did you feel was ‘too much, too fast’?” Clearly Tom did not share my desire to finish our little chitchat interrogation.

“The- the things we did,” I whispered virgin-like in my shyness. Tom wasn’t buying it. He reclined in his chair, placing his hands on the table top as if he was about to play the piano. I watched his talented fingers flexing for perhaps a beat too long, his eyes glinted with a smirk when they met mine.

“‘Things’? I’m afraid you’ll have to be a little more explicit, dear Charlotte,” he purred, his voice adopting a familiar gravelly quality. “Was it the fact of me tying you to the chair and teasing you mercilessly that bothered you? Or how I fucked you senseless afterwards?”

I gaped at him in astonishment, scarcely believing that he would say something like that so cavalierly in the middle of a packed restaurant.

“I-I don’t want to talk about this here, Tom,” I said, with wavering forcefulness. Tom shrugged nonchalantly, adjusting his already perfectly aligned tie. My mind automatically wandered to the deep blue tie that had bound my wrists not too long ago. My nails cut crescents into my damp palms.

“Very well, I’ll get the bill. We can discuss this further when we get home,” he said smoothly, gesturing for a waiter. I did a double-take at his choice of words- I had a distinct feeling that he wouldn’t agree to drop me home to my flat and conduct this inevitably excruciating discussion over the phone. Or by email. Email is always good. I did not, under any circumstances, want to go to his house; it was his dominion, his kingdom, I had no hope of an even fight there.

“I don’t want to go to your house, Tom.” It sounded more like a plea than the strong statement I had intended it to be.

“Why ever not, dear Charlotte?” he asked innocently, cocking his head to one side. I avoided his gaze, not wanting to admit that I distrusted both him and myself. It must have been written on my face.

“Do you not trust me, Charlotte? I did promise that I would never make you do anything you weren’t entirely happy with, did I not?”

“I- yes, Tom, you did promise that,” I conceded.

“And, if you’ll recall, dear Charlotte, you were very happy with the things I did to you last Saturday- I’d go so far as to say that you were bloody ecstatic,” he taunted, not even bothering to temper his salacious tone when the waiter appeared at his side, bill in hand. Tom’s eyes didn’t leave mine as he removed several notes from his wallet, handing them to the waiter without so much as a cursory glance at the little piece of paper. The waiter bobbed his head in thanks and wished us both a pleasant evening. I really doubted that anything ‘pleasant’ lay in store for me.

We didn’t utter a single word as Tom gallantly helped me into my jacket, pulled on his own, and guided me out of the restaurant with a possessive palm resting on my lower back. I frowned in confusion as Tom urged me to walk past the Jag.

“Uh, Tom? Isn’t that your car?” I asked, craning back and pointing to it even as Tom kept herding me down the street. I dug my heels in, allowing him to overtake me.

“Yes, it is.” Always so helpful and informative.

“Why aren’t we getting into it, Tom?”

“Because, Charlotte, we are going to enjoy the last of the daylight and go for a walk,” he explained, smiling slightly at my perplexed expression. A romantic stroll at sunset didn’t seem very…Tom. I dithered on the pavement, knowing that the main aim for the ‘walk’ was actually talking about our…‘issues’.

Tom extended a slim, pale hand towards me. “Come,” he commanded, his expression belying a slight hesitance, almost as if he expected me to refuse, or turn tail and run. As if I could do either. I stepped forward, tentatively placing my hand in his.


	5. Chapter 5

We walked for several minutes, in bristly silence. To distract myself, I admired the pinkish-amber glint of the dying sunlight on the normally grimy buildings. Tom’s eyes slid between them and me; my sixth sense so attuned to him that I could feel him watching me. It put me on edge. I said nothing, and just kept walking beside him, trying to keep up with his mile-long strides.

“Tom, can you not do that, please?” I finally mustered up the courage to say it, after what felt like an age of him staring at me as I leant over the balustrade, admiring the view of the Tower’s turrets spiralling up to the coral sky.

“What am I doing, Charlotte?” He asked patiently. He was leaning with his back to the river, casually resting against the low stone wall with his arms crossed and looking, admittedly, rather fantastic in his slick silver-grey suit.

“You’re staring at me, Tom,” I said, unable to hide my exasperation. He knew exactly what he was doing to tick me off. I could sense the smirk.

“I’m admiring the view, just as you are,” he replied, sounding more sincere than I would have expected.

“Yes, well, you’re making me uncomfortable, Tom.”

“That always seems to be the case, doesn’t it Charlotte?” he remarked tersely, his tone implying that it was my fault, and nothing to do with him whatsoever. I bit my tongue, glaring down at the sickly mud green water, projecting my anger at it instead of the irritating man hovering over me.

“I asked you a question-”

“A rhetorical question tag, not inviting a genuine response,” I snapped. As a scientist, English lit was never my strong suit, but I took an A Level in English Language and Linguistics- I knew a little something about the power of speech, even if I couldn’t wield it quite as well as Mr. High-and-Mighty Solicitor.

“Charlotte…” he growled, warningly.

“Tom,” I mocked, a little surprised by my own wilfulness. It wasn’t because I was feeling more confident around Tom or anything so progressive; in truth I knew that my petulance was a defence mechanism to avert from the real issue at hand- my shame. Tom huffed loudly, his jaw twitching in that weird way as he tipped his head back to stare at the sky.

“What is the matter, Charlotte? Hmm? What is it?”

“I don’t know what-”

“Don’t fuck about!” he snarled, properly furious for the first time. I flinched and edged away slightly as he turned towards me. “You’re clearly angry with me about something, but you don’t even have the decency to tell me what it is.”

“Decency? Decency?” I repeated, cringing at the shrillness in my own voice. I could feel my eyes dampening with tears; one of the main reasons I hate arguments is the fact that, regardless of whether I’m in the right or not, I will inevitably start crying. I turned away to hide that the floodgates were about to burst open, but Tom misinterpreted. His hand wrapped around my wrist, roughly yanking me back to face him.

“Don’t walk away from me, Charlotte,” he said in a dangerously low voice, moving closer to tower over me. Ordinarily, I would have cowered away; perhaps my temporary ‘anger’ would even have led me to scoff at his attempts to intimidate me, but I did neither. I did something far worse.

I burst into tears- instantly and instantaneously. I went from slightly watery-eyed to full on body-wracking sobs in a split second, flinging my dignity to the wind in the process. Tom’s grip on my wrist slackened immediately, his hands awkwardly grappling with my shoulders in a clearly uncertain attempt at comforting.

“Charlotte. Charlotte.” He had leaned down to my eye-level, his eyes wide and a little frantic as they scanned my face. Honestly, what is it with men and crying women? I had never imagined Tom could look so panicked and uncertain, but there he was, open-mouthed, wide-eyed and completely out of his depth. A laugh bubbled on my lips, barely distinguishable from my hysterical sobs. Tom’s eyebrows crinkled in confusion, making me laugh even more.

“Charlotte, are you…alright?” he asked warily, straightening up slightly and regarding me as if I had just escaped from Bedlam. In fairness, I was somehow managing to hoot with laughter and continue crying at the same time. Emotions are something else, aren’t they?

“I-I’m fi-iine, Tom,” I hiccupped, trying to regulate my breathing, and my brain. Tom’s hands still weighed heavily on my shoulders. “I didn’t mean to uh…I’m just a bit emotional at the m-minute, about…everything…” His thumbs dug into my collarbones.

“‘Everything’? What does ‘everything’ mean, Charlotte?” he enquired, his voice pitched soft and cautious.

“Us, Tom - you and me,” I said, gesturing between us for effect, “I just…I feel…bad and uh…”

“You feel bad about us? Why?”

“Because of the…the things we did, I-”

“Charlotte, listen to me,” he said urgently, shaking me slightly to make sure he had my attention, “If I pushed you too far last week, I’m sorry. That was never my intention; I don’t want you to be unhappy or uncomfortable in our relationship. Truly, I thought you wanted it as much as I did-”

“I-I did, Tom. I did want it,” I confessed quietly, only realising the exact truth of it as I uttered the words. I had wanted it, all of it. Tom may have been more eager, and certainly more dominant, than most men in that situation, but he hadn’t made me do a single thing against my will. Another rush of guilt surged through me as I realised that I had made Tom believe he had forced me in some way, when in reality, he had been nothing but entirely considerate of my wants and my limits.

“Then I don’t understand, Charlotte,” he admitted, furrowing his brow. His eyes still held some of the panic from earlier, making him appear younger, somehow more vulnerable than I was used to seeing him.

“It’s hard to explain, Tom…I did want to do everything, I don’t regret it. And you were so considerate of me, it’s just that…I, well, I come from a religious family, my grandparents- they have very strict morals and…all the things we did, our whole relationship, I know what they’d think of it, of me and it…it’s making me sick with guilt.” I closed my eyes, relieved at having gotten it all off my chest, even if it was garbled and barely understandable. Normally, when something is bothering me, I can talk to Sara or have a good weep down the phone to Nana; I’m not used to coping with things alone, or keeping secrets as big as this one.

“Charlotte, look at me,” Tom commanded softly. He held my face gently, running the pads of his thumbs along my cheekbones to brush away the tearstains. I opened my eyes warily, anxious that I had overshared.

“First of all, thank you for telling me all of that. I know it was difficult for you, but now that I finally know what is upsetting you, we can address it,” he said reassuringly, sliding his hands down to rest delicately on the sides of my neck.

“Secondly, although I understand that you are…concerned by the opinions of your family, it is, frankly, none of their business. What happens between us is no one’s business but ours-”

I attempted to interrupt, but Tom gripped my chin, shaking his head.

“-And most importantly, Charlotte, is this: do not be ashamed of the things you do or the things you like doing. Don’t allow other people’s narrow judgement to stop you from living as you wish to. If you enjoy something, then to hell with what everyone else thinks.” I blinked up at him in shock, taken aback not just by the intensity of his tone, but by the rather impressive wisdom he had just imparted on me. I have always been shaped by the opinions of others, particularly my friends and family; I am, by nature, a people-pleaser, perhaps even a bit of a doormat at times. It had never really occurred to me to ignore what they thought, to try and carve out my own set of morals and beliefs to fit how I felt and thought. I had a lot of re-considering to do. Tom seemed to understand perfectly well.

“Come on, let’s head back to the car,” he said softly, casting one last glance at the beautiful view and slipping his hand into mine.

We drove home in silence, but not the uncomfortable silence from before; we had simply said all that needed to be said that night.

Tom escorted me right to my door, waiting patiently as I fumbled in my bag, searching for my keys in the dark. When I eventually located them, I opened the door, hesitating slightly. Did he want to come in? Should I invite him in? Did he want me to kiss him goodnight?

Tom interrupted my flurry of uncertainty, leaning down and placing a chaste kiss on my cheek, lingering just a little longer than necessary. His faint stubble scratched lightly against my skin.

“Goodnight, Charlotte”, he whispered, ghosting a hand over my hair. He strode down the steps and back to his waiting car so quickly that I wasn’t sure he even heard my reply. Perhaps that was for the best.

I watched his taillights disappear before I shut the door, my mind whirling with the evening’s turn of events.

*

Tom didn’t plague me with calls the next day, or the day after that. I was in a good mood, despite it being Monday morning; I felt hopeful that things with Tom were on the up, and I found myself smiling in spite of the drizzly haze cloaking the city as I walked to Guy’s Hospital for my first day of placement. I was buzzing with excitement.

But by lunchtime, I was already bored out of my mind; all we had done was follow around a spectacularly dull old doctor as he gave us ‘the grand tour’. Admittedly, it was obviously imperative to have at least a vague idea of where all the different departments were, but I was itching to get down to the real stuff- dealing with patients and doing ward rounds. At about three o’clock, after six hours of boredom, and just before we were due to leave, we were divided into small groups and herded over to the doctors we would be shadowing (pestering) for the next six weeks. I was partnered with two idiotic boys from my Friday anatomy classes; I distinctly remembered them laughing the previous week when the lecturer referenced the pubis bone. Lucky me.

The three of us were sent off in search of a ‘Dr Huntley’, our victim. Ben and Mark followed me like lapdogs, offering no help or guidance as I attempted to locate our dear doc’s office. By the time I found the correct office, there was only ten minutes left before we were done for the day.

Apparently, the Almighty had seen fit to torment me, because instead of the sexist, balding middle-aged man my imagination had concocted, Dr Huntley was very young- and very handsome. The second I laid eyes on him, I felt my face flushing like a smitten teenage girl’s. I apologised profusely for being so late as Ben and Mark pushed past me and settled themselves on the sofa, completely unfazed. Dr Huntley smiled, revealing perfect twin dimples and teeth that would have been a dentist’s wet dream.

“No problem at all, this place is like a maze. I still get lost at some point each week, and I’ve been here for almost two years,” he said genially, coming around the table and approaching me with an outstretched hand. He was neither tall nor short, his physique distinctly average and unremarkable, but his hand was pleasantly warm in mine, and his megawatt smile made my stomach flutter.

“Hello, Dr Huntley, I’m Charlotte Green.”

“It’s great to meet you Charlotte, and please, call me Max! ‘Dr Huntley’ is my dad,” he said chirpily, his deep brown eyes crinkling at the edges. I found myself automatically grinning back like a fool.

Max introduced himself to the guys, and then set about giving us a brief rundown of the typical things we would be getting up to each week. I had to fight a losing battle with my concentration; I was so busy admiring his slightly dishevelled black hair and ridiculously long lashes that I missed him telling us we were free to go. I watched Ben and Mark in confusion as they legged it from the room without a backward glance.

“I’ll see you next week, Charlotte,” Max said kindly, still smiling that bright smile. I wondered if his face ever hurt from smiling so much.

As I walked out of his office, I fought against my girlish instincts to squeal. I couldn’t believe my luck, getting such a cute doctor to shadow; I would appreciate the eye candy no end. And he was so sweet and happy and just perfect…

I stopped dead at the stairwell, belatedly remembering that, aside from the rules of professionalism, my ‘boyfriend’ would likely have a thing or two to say about me being smitten with another man. I resolved not to mention anything about Max to Tom; I knew I didn’t have the poker face to withstand any suspicious questioning.

I power-walked home, charged by phantom nervous energy.

When I unlocked the front door, I was hit by the mouth-watering smell of Saranya’s cooking. I checked the post box and, finding it empty, I flew up to our flat, excited at the prospect of actually getting to spend some time with my best friend. We had both been so busy over the weekend we had barely exchanged more than a perfunctory ‘hi’, but Monday meant curry for dinner, and I was definitely up for a girly night in.

“Hey Sara! Smells sooo good!” I cried, dropping my bag on the floor of the living room and stretching my spine, cat-like. An explosion of red caught my eye and I turned in slow motion, taking in the enormous bouquet of roses perched on the scuffed coffee table with absolute horror.

“Yeah, you have some serious explaining to do, my friend,” remarked Sara, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed. Her expression told me that yes, the roses were for me, and yes, I was in big trouble.


	6. Chapter 6

Lies, damn lies, and statistics. Well, the statistics didn’t really factor in, but I was certainly doing an astonishing amount of lying. Let’s see…I was lying to my Nana about my sudden influx of funds, I was lying to myself on a daily basis, and I was lying to Saranya now, too.

“So, who’s this ‘T.H.’ character I haven’t heard a word about?” she asked, her eyes flashing with a challenge, “And why is he sending you a huge bouquet of flowers?”

I plucked the little white card from amongst the roses, and read Tom’s brief message.

Charlotte,

I hope you have recovered from Saturday night. I will be in touch soon.

T.H.

 

“Char, are you even listening to me?” Sara snapped, walking towards me.

“Yes, I’m listening-”

“And what the hell happened on ‘Saturday night’? You said you were going out with Jane!” Crap. I had totally forgotten about my ‘alibi’ for the date; now I was guilty of omission and fabrication. Some best friend I am.

“Uh yeah…I uh…” I fumbled for words, frantically pushing my hair back off my face and trying to think what the hell I was going to tell her. I felt absolutely rotten, Sara and I don’t keep secrets from each other; we’ve been friends for ten years, and when my Grandpa died she was the one who listened to me crying about it for weeks on end when I didn’t want to burden my Nana.

“Char, seriously! What the hell is going on? Have you got a new guy on the go? Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked, looking more hurt than angry.

“Yeah, I do have a…new guy. I just…well, I didn’t tell you because I didn’t think you’d approve,” I confessed, half telling the truth.

“Why wouldn’t I approve?”

“Well uh…he’s quite a bit older-”

“How old?”

“Thirty two.” Her eyebrows shot up.

“Damn, Char. That is a lot older. Still, I wouldn’t judge him just on that!”

“Yeah, yeah I know you wouldn’t. I just uh…I’m not really sure where things are going, so I didn’t want to get ahead of myself and start making things official,” I babbled, fiddling with the velvety rose petals, trying not to look as shifty as I felt. Why hadn’t I concocted a good lie about my relationship with Tom before someone found out about it?

“Humph,” Sara grunted, pursing her lips. She didn’t believe me, at least not completely. I really couldn’t have her finding out the truth about Tom and I- she’d kick my ass, send me to my Nana’s and probably report him to the police. “So what’s with the flowers?”

“I don’t know…we uh had a bit of an argument on Saturday, but I’m honestly surprised that he sent them,” I admitted, again telling half-truths.

“When did you meet him?” God, is there no end to the questioning?

“About two weeks ago-”

“How did you meet him?” Crap crap crap.

“Uh…through a friend.” By ‘friend’, I meant: a friend recommended a sugar daddy website, and that’s where I ‘met’ him. A little white lie. Sara’s dark eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“Marie, from my dissection class,” I supplied, settling more comfortably into my lying. I fully expected the Lord to smite me down at any moment. It may have been a preferable alternative.

“Alright,” Sara conceded, still looking incredibly sceptical. I sighed with relief when she retreated back into the kitchen. I meekly began setting the table and helped her serve up.

“So, what’s his name?” she asked, tucking into her dinner. I swore internally. I thought we were done with the issue.

“Tom. Hiddleston. He’s a solicitor,” I responded, shovelling the curry down me in the hope of making a swift exit.

“Ooh, very nice. What’s he like?” It was typical girly gossip, the type I normally love, but I felt distinctly wary, certain that I was about to give the game away at any moment.

“He’s uh…very mature. Handsome, and a bit serious but uh…quite sweet, I think, and very clever and driven.” And extremely dominant and controlling…frankly intimidating most of the time.

“What does he look like?”

“Tall, quite slim and athletic. Dark hair and good bone structure. Sort of bluish-grey eyes.”

“Mmmm he sounds dishy,” Sara teased, sipping her wine. At least she was enjoying the gossip sesh.

“Yeah, he is,” I confessed. If there was one thing I definitely liked about Tom, it was his looks. How shallow of me.

“I just can’t believe you didn’t say anything before, Char. He sounds great! Honestly, I’m so happy you feel ready to date again,” she said warmly, reaching over to pat my hand. Sara had also been the one to comfort me when I discovered that my ex, Anthony, had been cheating on me for about six months of our ten-month long relationship. I had somewhat lost my appetite for the male species for a while afterwards- they weren’t worth the hurt and humiliation.

“Oh, yeah. I guess I’ve just…gotten over it all.”

“Anthony Arsehole. I hate that bastard,” Sara exclaimed vehemently, punching the table. She still hadn’t forgiven Anthony for what he did, or our extended group of (ex) friends for not bothering to inform me that he was sleeping with someone else, “He fucked you up.”

“Yeah, I suppose he did.” I pushed my heap of rice around the plate, swirling it into patterns with my fork. Sara steamed on, unaware of my fervent desire to drop the conversation.

“He gets to run around with that slut Amy, and you’re left nursing a broken heart for almost a year! And he never even deserved you in the first place! God, it makes me so mad-”

“Sara! Can we just drop it, please?” I said suddenly, snapping a bit. Sara blinked in shock. I’m usually very docile.

“Yeah, of course. Sorry,” she said, her voice wavering slightly. I instantly felt a rush of guilt.

“Sorry. I’m sorry, Sara. I’m just…tired and a bit stressed at the moment,” I explained lamely. She bit her lip and nodded, her eyes studiously fixed on her plate. I tried a different tact. “Can’t we talk about something other than guys? They’re so boring!” I nudged her with my elbow, winking goofily. She giggled.

“Alright grumpy-gills, what shall we talk about?”

“Why don’t we start with that new piercing in your hand?”

“Ah fuck, I was hoping you wouldn’t notice!”

“Really, Sara, what were you thinking? Your mum’s going to have an aneurism!”

“It’s fine, I’ll just wear gloves whenever I go to visit!”

“Yeah, that’s a great plan!”

*

Nothing more was said about Tom, or the ostentatious floral display in our living room. Tom called me on Wednesday, to check if I was free for another date on Friday evening. I assured him that I was, and when I hung up, I realised that I was actually quite looking forward to it. Perhaps it was because he hadn’t barked orders at me like a drill sergeant, as he is wont to do; his telephone manner is pretty poor most of the time.

In an attempt to be more open with Sara, I informed her about the upcoming date. It was fun to speculate over where Tom would take me, and gossip about what I should wear and how I should do my makeup. But I still breathed an internal sigh of relief when Sara poutingly remarked that she wouldn’t be home to meet Tom when he came to pick me up. I reverently hoped that they would never meet.

Thank the Lord in Heaven that Sara was busy being her sociable self that night, because Tom decided that, rather than wait in his car, he would be a total gentleman and collect me right from my front door. It was a nice sentiment, in theory. In practice, the intercom buzzed ten minutes before he was due to pick me up, and I had a minor heart attack as I attempted to wriggle into another expensive confection of a dress.

“You’re early,” I accused grumpily, forgoing all attempts at being mannerly and greeting him bare-foot, like a peasant. Tom raised his eyebrows disapprovingly, but smiled slightly nonetheless. I ended up smiling too; he was wearing a very, very nice navy three piece suit and a stiff, high-collared shirt. I was so busy admiring him that I accidently stabbed myself as I tried to hook in my earrings.

“Are you going to invite me in?” he asked, after a delay of several seconds as I traced him from toe to…top.

“Oh uh…yes, of course,” I said quickly, hoping he hadn’t noticed my leering. He stepped into the dank, narrow hallway, and I suddenly felt extremely embarrassed about my accommodation.

“Your dress is unzipped,” he remarked quietly, just as I reached to close the door. He moved behind me, one hand firmly holding my waist while the other pulled the zip up agonizingly slowly. My cheeks tingled with a blush at the unexpected intimacy. He carefully brushed my hair aside, needlessly trailing his fingertips over the top of my spine before sliding the zip into its rightful place. His hand reluctantly left my waist, and I realised that I had been holding my breath for far too long.

“Thanks, Tom,” I said softly, turning back to face him. His eyes were as sharp and predatory as the night we met - I could barely manage to look at them. I needed to get us out of the tiny space we were occupying; he was too close for comfort.

“Uh…I’m almost ready, like I’ll genuinely be a minute. Do you uh…want to wait in your car while I grab my bag?” Trying to phrase it as a polite suggestion rather than the command it clearly was proved rather challenging. Tom pursed his lips.

“Very well. One minute it is,” he said crisply, turning to leave. I bolted for the staircase, certain that he meant it literally.

“Fifty-nine…fifty-eight…” he called, laughing slightly as he walked back outside. I was glad that Tom appeared to be in as good a mood as I was. Perhaps our heart-to-heart on the previous date had softened him up a bit.

I jammed on my shoes, fluffed my hair and grabbed my bag before flying back down the stairs. I collapsed in the passenger seat completely out of breath.

“…eight. Ah, what a shame, you made it,” Tom remarked, smirking slightly.

“Yes I did, Tom. Sorry to disappoint,” I said happily, buckling up, “Where are we going for dinner?”

“There’s a new Italian place open in Covent Garden that I want to try, it’s had very good reviews.”

“Are we doing anything after dinner?” I asked suddenly, as we drove over the river. Tom glanced over at me, looking highly amused.

“Did you have anything particular in mind for our after dinner activity, Charlotte? I’m open to suggestions,” he purred. I blushed, belatedly realising my accidental innuendo.

“Oh uh no, I just meant-”

“What do you think about ballet?”

“Ballet?” I was completely lost as to where our conversation had just turned, “I did it for a few years when I was a kid, but my teacher said I lacked the necessary…grace and finesse.” Tom laughed.

“Worry not, you’ll only be watching tonight, there is no obligation to participate.”

“Are we seriously going to the ballet, Tom?”

“Yes, Charlotte, we seriously are.” I was impressed; a date to see the ballet seemed so very sophisticated. It was going to be a great night, I was sure of it.

**

I had frankly stuffed myself with gnocchi and tiramisu, so much so that I was experiencing a slight food-baby bump. Mercifully, the peplum detail on my dress hid the worst of it, but I couldn’t help but stand a little uncomfortably, rubbing my poor belly while Tom collected our tickets from the box office.

The atrium of the Opera House was incredible- and incredibly packed with people; no matter where I moved, I kept being jostled from all sides. I was admiring the pretty oriole window when I faintly registered a voice calling my name. A very familiar voice.

“Charlotte? Oh my god, it is you!” A cold, ghostly finger slid down my spine. I grimaced, fleetingly, before reluctantly turning to face him.

“Hello, Anthony,” I said stiffly, panic-fuelled adrenaline whirring around my body. How odd that providence would just happen to throw him in my path a mere few days after Sara and I had spoken about him. I hadn’t thought of him in months, and now he was cropping up left, right and centre. “What are you doing here?” The ballet hardly seemed an appropriate evening out for a twenty-two year old guy with a penchant for dirt bikes and ‘Call of Duty’.

“I work here! Wow, what are the chances, huh? How are you? I haven’t seen you in ages!” he said jovially, his smiling face showing no hint of the awkwardness I was experiencing. Had he forgotten what happened between us?

“Yes, well, exes usually don’t hang out too much,” I remarked drily, scanning the bustling crowd for Tom, in the hope that he would rescue me. Anthony had the good grace to look chagrined, scratching the back of his neck uncomfortably, and shoving his other hand into his trouser pocket.

“Uh yeah, I know that…Listen Lottie, I’m sorry-”

“Charlotte,” I corrected, incensed that he had used his old pet name for me. The bloody nerve of him.

“What?” His dark brows converged in confusion.

“My name is Charlotte. Not Lottie.”

“Oh uh right…Charlotte, look, I’m sorry about everything, I really am. I was such an idiot…that whole thing with Amy- I don’t know what I was thinking!”

“Mmmhmm,” I murmured distractedly, willing Tom to reappear with all my might.

“…And then I heard about your grandpa passing away, and I wanted to get in touch, but I knew you wouldn’t want me to-”

“It’s fine, Anthony,” I said sharply, cutting him off. How dare he drag my grandpa into his poor attempt to charm me? Just like Saranya, he looked taken aback by my irritation. Probably because I was a total doormat when we were dating. No wonder he cheated on me. Doubtless he had assumed I would simply give him and Amy my blessing and continue as if nothing was wrong between us.

One of Anthony’s fellow ushers appeared, looking somewhat reluctant to interrupt our conversation.

“Sorry, Anthony, but Vickers wants us to shift areas this evening- you’re doing West Wing and I’m on East Lower,” the bespeckled teenager muttered earnestly.

“Uh yeah sure, no problem, man. I’ll be along in a minute…Oh by the way, this is Finn. Finn, this is Charlotte,” Anthony said, rushing through introductions. I smiled vaguely in response, wishing the two of them would get back to work and leave me in peace.

“So Charlotte, are you here with someone?” Anthony enquired, sounding a little too hopeful that I was alone.

“She’s with me,” replied a cool voice behind me. I turned slightly to see Tom staring down his nose at Anthony, his eyes narrowed slightly, as if he had automatically sensed the tension in the air. He moved to stand beside me, a large hand resting pointedly on my waist. Anthony’s brown eyes flitted down for a split-second, flinching in understanding.

“Charlotte, aren’t you going to introduce me to your…friends?” Tom asked politely, smiling down at me. I distinctly picked up his sneer in the last word.

“Yes, Tom. This is Anthony, and uh, Finn. Uh, this is Tom, my uh…”

“Boyfriend,” Tom supplied smoothly, pulling me tighter against his side. “And how do you all know each other?” I glared up at him, wondering why on Earth he was persisting in dragging out this excruciating conversation. I smiled falsely.

“Anthony and I used to date, Tom…”

“Ah.”

“…Until I found out that he had been cheating on me with one of my friends for six months,” I finished, unable to hide my vindictive tone. Finn’s gingery eyebrows shot sky high. Anthony flushed scarlet. ‘Pay back’s a bitch, isn’t it Anthony?’

“Ah.” Tom looked like the cat who had got the cream. His smile was utterly feral as he looked over at Anthony.

“Well, your stupidity has certainly been to my gain. I am so fortunate to have Charlotte,” he remarked, pulling me against his hard torso and kissing my head. I was caught between feeling smug and blushing at Tom’s surprisingly sweet display of affection. I splayed my hand over his chest, half for balance, and half to enhance the image of us as a perfectly loved up couple. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, we have a date to enjoy. Good evening,” he said smoothly, turning us away from the pair of stunned boys and guiding me to the grand staircase without a backward glance. I made to move away from Tom the second I was certain we were out of view, but his iron grip on my side didn’t slacken.

“Where are you rushing off to?” he asked lowly, staring down at me intensely. His expression was perfectly blank, but I saw anger simmering in his steely eyes. I wasn’t sure if it was aimed at me.

“Nowhere, Tom,” I replied meekly, halting my attempts to regain some personal space. Tom plucked our tickets from his jacket pocket, and handed them to an usher, who led us up another sweeping flight of stairs.

“Tom?”

“Yes?”

“Thanks for…standing up for me. You didn’t have to,” I said, smiling shyly. Tom’s intervention had meant that I could walk away from Anthony feeling victorious.

“Yes, I did have to. You are my girlfriend, Charlotte,” he replied, a little tersely. I wrinkled my nose; I didn’t really consider our relationship to truly be ‘boyfriend and girlfriend’. It was more ‘sugar daddy and…sugar girlfriend?’

“Yes well…thank you, Tom. It felt nice to get one over him after what he did.”

“You’ve never mentioned him to me before,” Tom remarked offhandedly. I picked up a sliver of accusation in his tone.

“Well, I suppose we haven’t had the ‘exes’ conversation yet, Tom,” I joked, trying to lighten the mood. My hopes of having an enjoyable evening with him were slipping away at a rapid pace. His mood swings were utterly astonishing; he had been in great form on the drive over and all through dinner, but now he was huffing with me for no apparent reason.

The usher mercifully intervened, pulling aside a plush velvet curtain and revealing our private box. It was in a tiny little alcove, perched to one side of the stage, and there was just four chairs inside- talk about an intimate setting.

“Here you are Sir, Madam. If you require anything, an usher will be waiting just outside. I hope you enjoy the show,” he said, before bobbing his head and beating a quick retreat. Perhaps he had overheard our tense conversation.

Tom settled himself in one of the seats, unbuttoning his suit jacket and splaying his legs a mile wide, as always. I walked over to the ledge, marvelling at the vast red curtain cloaking the stage, the enormous glittering chandeliers floating overhead, and the sea of people filling the various gilded layers and mezzanines of the theatre. It was incredible. The atmosphere was buzzing and anticipatory, even though the show didn’t begin for at least another twenty minutes. I found myself naturally absorbing the joy and excitement of the crowd.

“Be careful, Charlotte,” Tom nagged, as I hoisted myself up to lean over the balcony for a better view. My feet had just risen off the floor when an arm slid around my middle, effortlessly lifting and pulling me back.

“I said, be careful,” Tom growled, jerking me tightly against his chest.

“Tom, I’m fine!” I replied, irritated by his unnecessary interference. “I’m not a child, you don’t have to molly-coddle me!” I turned my head back to glare up at him. He seethed with anger, his nostrils flaring at my tart response.

“Evidently, I do. You almost tipped over the ledge. Come and sit down.” He released me, retreating back to his seat, confident that I would follow like a well-trained little lapdog.

“Now, Charlotte,” he commanded. I huffed, sneaking one last look around before dutifully sitting beside him. I crossed my legs tightly, leaning as far away from him as possible. How he could change from ‘knight in shining armour’ to ‘dragon’ in only a matter of minutes was beyond me.

“Are you going to sulk with me now?” He asked condescendingly, as I silently perused the program. Shakespeare’s ‘The Winter’s Tale’ as a ballet- talk about highbrow. I sincerely hoped I would be able to appreciate it.

“I’m not sulking with you, Tom,” I said sniffily.

“But you aren’t going to speak to me?” I sighed, still keeping my eyes fixed on the bright pamphlet.

“What would you like to talk about, Tom?” He deftly nabbed the program from my hands, holding it out of reach when I made a grab for it.

“Tom! What are you doing?” I asked, exasperated.

“I’m reclaiming your attention. I don’t appreciate being ignored, Charlotte,” he said sternly, slipping the program into his pocket. ‘Actual five-year-old!’

“I wasn’t ignoring you, Tom.” He merely grunted in response.

“Tom, are you annoyed with me about the thing with Anthony? It isn’t my fault he just happened to be here the same night we are!” I said defensively. All had been well before our run in with Anthony, so surely he had to be the root of the problem?

“I never said that it was your fault, Charlotte. I only wish that you would have told me about him before.”

“You never asked me about my ex-boyfriends, why on Earth would I just start up a conversation about one of them?” I exclaimed, well and truly ticked off at this point. Tom glared at me, no doubt unimpressed by my ‘impoliteness’.

“Is he the only one?”

“No, I dated two guys before him.”

“I see. Were any of these relationships serious?”

“Yes, I’ve been married and divorced twice,” I replied, dripping in sarcasm. A tick flickered in Tom’s jaw.

“Charlotte…”

“Fine! The first two were while I was in secondary school, so no. Anthony I suppose was…serious. We lived together-” Tom’s eyebrows shot up “-well, we uh lived in the same flat, in halls.”

“But he cheated on you?” I rolled my eyes, unable to believe that we were going over it again.

“Yes, Tom. He cheated on me, and now I hate his guts, okay?” Tom frowned, staring thoughtfully off into the distance for a moment. He rubbed a palm over his jaw and exhaled.

“Yes, Charlotte, alright,” he said thoughtfully, signalling the conclusion of the conversation. ‘Not so fast Mr Inquisition.’

“So…what about your exes?” Tom’s stormy eyes snapped up to mine. I belatedly realised that maybe, just maybe, I shouldn’t have been so presumptuous as to ask. I prepared myself for an explosion of fury. Instead, Tom smoothed his expression, shrugging nonchalantly.

“Nothing of particular interest. It would only bore you,” he said, evasively. Naturally, I was now extremely interested.

“No really, I want to know. I told you about mine. Tit for tat-”

“That is not how our relationship functions, Charlotte,” Tom snarled with sudden vehemence. I flinched at his lightning fast anger. I felt like a scolded child; my eyes prickled with oncoming tears. I turned my head, pretending to look at the vacant stage. I hated when Tom was angry with me, and frankly, it seemed to be the case most of the time; I had a knack for pissing him off.

“Charlotte…I don’t like to dwell on the past, I’d much rather enjoy the present…with you,” Tom coaxed, his voice returning to its naturally deep, honeyed cadence. I pouted lightly, still not turning back to face him. He was happy to ‘dwell’ on my past, but apparently the same rules didn’t apply to him, they never did; he was right, our relationship was not built on equal footing. It was a hard pill to swallow sometimes, always feeling so inferior to him- looks, money, sophistication, intelligence- he had it all in spades…and yet, he chose to be with me. It made no sense.

The lights in the theatre dimmed, leaving us in semi darkness as the curtain began to slink up from the stage.

“Charlotte,” he murmured, tracing his hand delicately down the back of my arm, and slipping his hand into mine. When I still refused to be moved, he leaned forward, pressing a kiss to my exposed shoulder. I rolled my eyes, irritated by his attempts to charm me. I focussed on the lithe, bending shapes of the dancers as they glided onto the bedecked stage, marvelling at their elaborate costumes.

Tom untangled his hand from mine, instead cupping my bare knee in his cool palm, massaging my skin with his thumb. My breath hitched as he brushed aside my hair, lightly licking a trail up the side of my neck. Damn him, he knew my weak spot. I stifled a gasp when he sealed his lips around it, sucking hard enough to bruise.

“I haven’t had you in so long,” he murmured darkly, nipping at my jaw. His wandering hand slid stealthily higher and higher up my leg.

“T-Tom, won’t someone see us?” I asked shakily, trying to reason against the fuzzy feeling brewing in my belly. We were pretty well shielded in our little box, but I was fairly certain that some people in the opposite boxes had a decent view of us. Worse still, the wooden panel separating us from our neighbours wouldn’t be thick enough to drown out any impassioned noises.

“That’s all part of the fun, Charlotte. Isn’t it exciting that someone could see us?”

“Uh…I don’t know if exciting is the word I’d use, Tom,” I replied, keeping my eyes firmly on the stage and schooling my expression into one of polite interest, not one of uninhibited lust and potential exhibitionism.

“What word would you use?” Tom enquired, lavishing increasingly insistent kisses along the side of my neck. My eyes rolls closed briefly, revelling in the sensation. They flew open again when Tom’s hand squeezed my upper-thigh, much nearer to the inner sanctum than I had realised. I grabbed his wrist, stopping its ascent. Tom detached himself from my neck, glancing down at our hands hidden beneath my dress and smirking like an absolute rogue.

“Oh, are you wanting to assist me?” he teased, his other hand prising mine off his wrist with ease and pulling it towards him. “You could assist me over here,” he whispered salaciously, placing my hand on his crotch. As he encouraged my palm to rub him through his suit trousers, I felt his cock twitch and stiffen. Heat engulfed my face. Tom used my momentary embarrassment to his advantage, and his searching fingers glided to the apex of my thighs.

“Charlotte.” He inhaled sharply, almost forgetting to keep his voice down as he realised I was sans knickers. I had omitted to mention that small detail to him. In my defence, I was out of clean no-VPL undies, so I had no choice but to go commando. The shocked expression on his face made me so very glad I had, though.

“Yes, Tom?” I murmured, wide-eyed and (partially) innocent. Tom smiled slowly, his eyes glinting in the dark.

“You little minx.” He teased his fingertips along my folds, carefully parting them and stroking the already damp flesh within. My legs spread wider of their own volition. I moaned quietly, completely forgetting myself.

“Tom, I really don’t think-”

“Sh…” he whispered, placing his other hand over my mouth briefly, tracing my bottom lip as he mimicked the movement down below. His forefinger brushed against my clit, sending little electric shocks through my bloodstream, and causing my hips to buck in desperation. He had barely even touched me and I was already seconds from begging him to take me up against the balcony- audience be damned. I savoured the pleasure-pulses radiating through my body with every steady revolution of his fingertip. My eyes flickered to the stage, the tight, controlled spins of the dancers perfectly reflecting Tom’s careful movements on me.

“Not a sound,” Tom warned gruffly, his breath tickling my ear. Before I could ask what he meant, he thrust two fingers inside me, his patience evidently waning. I just about managed to stifle the yelp that threatened to spill from my open mouth. Tom laughed devilishly.

“In truth, Charlotte, I would love nothing more than to have the entire theatre hear the sound of the pleasure I give you. But then…it is mine to enjoy, and mine only,” he murmured, grazing his sharp teeth along my throat. His long fingers curled, caressing and searching for that elusive gratification spot. There wasn’t a chance in hell that I would be able to keep my mouth shut if he kept touching me like that. He began pumping his fingers in and out at a measured pace, gradually building that deep, dark feeling of want.

My breath was coming in short pants, and my bottom lip was near to bleeding from how forcefully I had been biting it. I prayed reverently that the interval would be soon- very soon. Tom was purposefully taking his time and driving me insane, but I didn’t know how much longer I could last. My legs were starting to shake, mini-earthquake-like tremors snaking from my hips to my feet that were helplessly twisting on the ground.

‘The dancers. Focus on the dancers…they move so beautifully, so perfectly. They’re almost inhuman, the way they can move. How they can…tell a story with their… bodies-’ My own body wasn’t so much telling a story as having a minor crisis. I was so close, almost at ‘the peak’; I gauged that I had a matter of minutes left. Unfortunately, I’m not exactly known for being quiet in bed, even if I am quiet during the rest of my day to day life.

“Tom, I’m…I’m going to-ugh!”

“I know, Charlotte. I can feel you tightening around my fingers. I wish it was my cock that your cunt was milking…mmm, perhaps later. I want to enjoy you properly,” he rumbled, his voice rasping with suppressed desire. I whined, pleased to know I wasn’t the only one losing control. Tom’s fingers sped up, going for the finale. His hand snaked around my shoulder, gripping my jaw and turning my face up to him. His lips closed firmly over mine just as my orgasm washed over me, his mouth swallowing my shrill cries. Cheers erupted around us as the audience showed their appreciation for the dancers onstage as the first act finished. My first thought after coming down was that they were cheering for us. Tom smiled against my lips, and I knew that he was thinking exactly the same.

“Bravo, indeed,” he mused, pulling away and stroking a few errant hairs back from my flushed face. I laughed weakly, still trying to recover. I subconsciously searched the boxes and balconies near us; after the cloud of lust had faded, I became extremely aware of what we had just done in public.

“Charlotte.”

“Yes, Tom?” I dragged my eyes back to Tom. Gorgeous Tom, who was grinning - no, baring his teeth- at me like he wanted to eat me whole. He leaned down, pressing his lips right against my ear, and whispering so quietly that I only just caught his next words.

“Are you ready for the encore?”


	7. Chapter 7

We stayed until the very end. How on Earth we managed another hour is beyond me. As soon as Tom’s dancing fingers had moved away from my shaking limbs, I was ready to pounce on him. “Not here”, he had said, “Later…I want to enjoy you properly”, he said. So I behaved, sitting like a demure young lady who hadn’t just gotten off with her sugar daddy in a fancy theatre box, and watched the end of the show. All I could think about was Tom’s promise of an ‘encore’. My hands were folded primly in my lap, occasionally applying a little bit of pressure when I got antsy. Tom kept his paws to himself, observing the dancers with apparently rapt attention. I never would have suspected a thing, nor doubted his control, if I hadn’t noticed his hands rubbing along the tops of his thighs discreetly every so often. He was squirming as much as I was. ‘Good’, I thought. I wanted him, wanted him…properly, in the way that he wanted me. But was I ready? Could I do the things he wanted without suffering from a guilt-hangover the next day? I didn’t want a repeat of last time. But I did want him.

“Charlotte, time to go,” Tom announced abruptly, almost leaping out of his seat and swiftly buttoning his suit. I had missed the end of the show- I’d been so busy daydreaming about the sinful things Tom would do to me, if only I had the courage to ask him. I scooped up my bag, and rearranged the hem of my dress, making sure I didn’t look too rumpled. Tom slipped his hand into mine, sweeping back our privacy curtain and leading me into the hallway. He was in a hurry, moving us along quickly- but not quickly enough to prevent me spotting Anthony, standing against the wall outside our box and staring at me with wide eyes. A small thrill of terror shot through me. Had he been standing there all evening? I glanced back at him over my shoulder, trying to read from his expression whether he had heard anything he shouldn’t have. Tom felt my hesitance and tugged hard on my hand, pulling me after him. When I looked back again, Anthony had been swallowed by the exiting crowd.

‘What if he heard me? Oh God, it would’ve been so obvious what we were up to! What if he tells people? If he blabs, it’s bound to get back round to Sara. What if everyone at uni finds out? Oh God, oh God, oh-’

“Are you alright, Charlotte?” Tom asked, quickly glancing over at me. I stared miserably out the window at the dark streets as we whizzed by. I swallowed, moving back to sit upright in the passenger seat.

“Yes, Tom. I’m fine,” I lied, trying to sound convincingly chipper. I wasn’t fine- I was anxious and worried and annoyed. I had had such a great night with Tom, and now it was all ruined, because Anthony may or may not have heard just how much fun we were having. I sighed, flinging my head back against the head rest a little too violently. The sheer unfairness of it all!

“Liar,” Tom breathed harshly. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the steering wheel tightly. “I’ll ask again: are you alright? Do not lie to me,” he said tersely.

“Tom, please, don’t be angry with me,” I pleaded pathetically. I was already beating myself up, I didn’t need him to be pissed off with me too. The brakes screeched suddenly, and I lurched in my seat. ‘Why has he pulled over?’

“What is it, Charlotte?” Tom asked urgently, watching me intensely.

“I just uh…I think Anthony was outside our box tonight,” I explained, staring fixedly at the strip of piano black on the glove compartment. Tom exhaled deeply; I saw his whole frame relax from the corner of my eye. I hadn’t realised how tense he was.

“Is that all?” I turned to glare at him. ‘Is that all?!’

“He may have heard us, Tom.”

“And?” Tom enquired, quirking his eyebrow. I gritted my teeth. ‘How is he not understanding the gravity of the situation? Am I saying it wrong?’

“And, I don’t really like the idea that he might have heard us!” I snapped.

“Why? Why does it matter if he did hear us?”

“Well…he might, you know, tell people… about it,” I said, hesitating as I realised that this was actually rather unlikely. Why on Earth would he tell anyone that his ex-girlfriend had got up to naughty business with a very sexy, evidently wealthy older man?

“I sincerely doubt that. Even if he did…are you ashamed? I’m certainly not.” Tom reached across the console, squeezing my thigh. I think it was meant as a gesture of comfort; instead, I found myself beginning to feel randy all over again.

“No…I uh, suppose not, Tom…” I replied vaguely, unconsciously leaning closer to him, my gaze flitting from his piercing eyes down to his soft, thin lips. I heard a small click, and Tom’s right hand tangled in my hair, pulling me towards him. He kissed the corner of my mouth, slowly moving his lips across, running his tongue along the seam of my mouth and sucking on my bottom lip. I gasped and pulled back slightly when his teeth nipped a little too harshly. We stared at each other for a few seconds, breathing heavily. I gathered my ailing courage.

“Tom, will you…take me home?” I asked breathlessly. His eyes flickered infinitesimally as his fingers slid limply out of my hair. He sat back in his own seat, redoing his seatbelt and restarting the engine without looking back at me.

“Of course,” he said stiffly.

“Tom,” I said softly, tentatively resting my hand on his forearm. The suit fabric was surprisingly smooth beneath my palm. He frowned slightly, glancing over at me briefly as he attempted to pull back out onto the road.

“Yes?”

“Will you take me to your house, please?” I whispered, embarrassment constricting my voice a bit. Tom’s eyes snapped to mine instantly, searching for truth and lies. For a moment, I feared that he would say no, that he would feel I wasn’t ready. But I was.

“Yes,” he growled suddenly, hitting the accelerator hard. I reclined in my seat, watching the streetlights blur together, pleased with myself for saying what I had intended. ‘Step one- done.’

Tom positively raced home, weaving in and out of the traffic like a Bond villain on the run. No sooner had we pulled into the enclosed courtyard at his house than he was opening my door, helping me to manoeuvre out of the low car and whisking me inside. I half expected him to toss me over his shoulder and carry me to the bedroom, cave-man style. UnFortunately, he decided to escort me to the living room where we had first met, less than a month before. I perched in the very same seat, marvelling at how little time had actually passed, and how much my life had changed as a result of the man now leaning over the silver drinks globe and carefully pouring two tumblers of bourbon. I admired the curve of his ass in those tight suit trousers while attempting to find a comfortable position for my own posterior. It was a shockingly rigid ‘sofa’, if you could even call it that, not squished and careworn as they ought to be. I idly wondered if anyone every really sat in it bar me, or if it was just for decoration. Frankly, the entirety of Tom’s house appeared unlived in; it was freakishly tidy and impersonal, whereas my own little room was strewn with photos on the wall, and clothes on the floor.

“Oh, thanks, Tom,” I said, gingerly accepting the heavy crystal glass and its tiny measure of amber liquid. As Tom took his place opposite me, I noticed that his own tumbler had a far larger measurement than mine did. ‘He must think I’m a light weight…in fairness, he may have a point’. I took a large gulp, hoping the whiskey would steady my nerves ahead of my second request; I recoiled as it burned a hot path down my throat. Considering its hefty price tag, I very rarely indulge in whiskey- wine is far cheaper and gets me drunk just as quickly.

“Easy, Charlotte,” Tom murmured, trying not to smirk too much as I coughed and spluttered.

“Oh my God! That is really strong!” I exclaimed. I couldn’t help but giggle at the ridiculously hoarse, screechy sound of my own voice. Tom’s deep laughter joined mine briefly, but stopped abruptly when I continued coughing.

“Charlotte, are you alright?” he asked, coming to crouch in front of me and smoothing a hand down my back, as if ready to give it a good thump if needs be. I nodded, wiping the tears from my watery eyes. My advice? Don’t ever try to down bourbon, no matter how small the measure may seem.

“Yes, Tom. I’m fine.” He took the tumbler from my hand, setting it on a side table out of my reach. No more alcohol for me.

“Perhaps bourbon wasn’t such a good idea,” he mused, still rubbing my back. I giggled quietly, slightly embarrassed by own stupidity and uncouthness. I grasped Tom’s wrist before he could move away. He frowned slightly as I traced my fingertips over the bump of his wrist bone, feeling for his pulse.

“Tom…”

“Yes, Charlotte?”

“I wanted to uh…ask you…”

“Yes?” he encouraged, watching me quizzically.

‘Deep breaths, this is the moment…’ “I was just… wondering if you would uh…um…” Thinking it was one thing, but actually saying it out loud to him was another kettle of fish all together.

“Charlotte. What is it?” Tom demanded, rubbing his thumb along my cheek. ‘Just say it…just spit it out, woman!’

“I want…will you…dominate me?” I said in a rush of air, shutting my eyes. My face flushed hotter than the whiskey had burned my throat. I heard Tom suck in a deep breath.

“Charlotte, open your eyes,” he said, fixing me with his fierce stare as soon as I acquiesced, “Are you sure?”

“Yes, Tom.” There was a brief pause as Tom considered me carefully, sitting back on his haunches and running a hand across his jaw. He nodded ever so slightly.

“Upstairs. Now,” he commanded, abruptly standing to his full height. I scurried up the main staircase, making a beeline for his bedroom. Tom’s long strides shadowed my steps, following me through the doorway. The door slammed shut, and I turned to face him.

“Are you sure?” he repeated.

“Yes, Tom,” I breathed, fizzing with anticipation. I couldn’t believe that it was actually happening, that I had really had the guts to ask him.

“You are to do everything I tell you, understand?” he said lowly, beginning to walk- prowl- in a circle around me. I tried to turn and follow his movement, but gave up quickly.

“Yes, Tom.”

“Do you remember our safe word?” ‘Red’.

“Yes, Tom.”

“Good, apart from that, do not speak unless spoken to. Now…strip.” ‘Bloody hell, he doesn’t waste any time.’ I hesitated for a split second, wondering how I would manage to unzip the dress by myself. I reached my arm back awkwardly, searching for the tab, only to find that my dress was already half undone. ‘What?’ I turned to stare at Tom in amazement. He smirked, clasping his hands behind his back.

“I’m waiting, Charlotte. You know that I don’t like to be kept waiting,” he warned. I quickly unzipped the dress down past my naked bum and wriggled out of it, unclasping my bra in a matter of seconds.

“Good girl,” Tom murmured, raking his eyes over my exposed skin. The significance of the fact that he was still fully dressed wasn’t lost on me.

“Where to begin…” he deliberated, circling me once more. I hoped that whatever it was, he would begin pretty damn soon. I shivered, noticing my skin tighten all over. He stopped in front of me.

“Kneel,” he rasped. My knees hit the thick carpet before I had even paused to consider what I was doing. ‘Well, I did ask him to dominate me. And he’s doing just that.’

“Sit back on your heels, and move your knees farther apart. Yes, good.” Tom shrugged out of his suit jacket and waistcoat, as he instructed me. He pulled off his tie, winding it around his fist thoughtfully before tossing it aside.

I didn’t know what to do with my hands. Tom noticed.

“Hands behind your back,” he commanded. I loosely joined my hands, resting them on my heels. Tom shook his head. “Hold your elbows.” It wasn’t an easy position to keep; grasping each elbow meant pushing my shoulders back and my chest forward to maintain balance. I suppose that was why he chose it.

“Beautiful,” Tom purred, smiling down at me as he stroked a hand over my hair. I blushed, feeling giddiness bubble in my gut. I couldn’t help but notice that his desire was becoming rather obvious through his trousers.

“I’m feeling very…playful, Charlotte. Are you?” he enquired, his dark eyes sparkling with mischief as he rolled up his shirt sleeves. I wasn’t entirely sure, but I daren’t say no.

“Yes, Tom.”

Tom walked away, towards the huge chest at the end of his bed and began rooting around in it. ‘I knew that was where he kept the kinky stuff!’

What was he looking for? I squeezed my eyes shut, too afraid of what he may produce to look. Of course, if anything too extreme for my liking made an appearance, I could always use the safe word, but I was very much hoping it wouldn’t come to that, especially not so early on. I wanted to give the whole Dom/sub dynamic a fair chance before writing it off completely.

“Did I say you could close your eyes?” Tom demanded. ‘Oops’.

“No, Tom,” I said meekly, reluctantly opening them again. Tom smirked.

“You don’t want to see what’s going on, is that it? Very well,” he said, lifting something from the chest and stalking towards me. I watched his hand apprehensively, trying to make out what he was holding. Just a scrap of purple fabric. My breath hitched as Tom walked behind me, but I didn’t dare move a muscle. “Be careful what you wish for,” he whispered devilishly, as the purple satin appeared in –and engulfed- my line of vision. ‘Hmmm, a blindfold. Didn’t see that coming.’

“There, is that more to your liking?” he asked wickedly, his nimble fingers knotting it behind my head.

“Yes, Tom.” Honestly, I wasn’t sure how I felt about having no choice but to be completely blind. Before I could make up my mind, Tom grasped my hair suddenly, pulling my head back so that I faced the ceiling. His lips pressed insistently against mine- upside down. It was a strange, slightly disorienting feeling, but there was something undeniably hot about it, even more so when his other hand came around to loosely cup my throat, firmly holding me in place as his mouth plundered mine. I moaned desperately, attempting to hold my position as he bent me back farther, opening my body up to his advances. His hand slid from my throat down between my breasts, and over my belly to my centre, stroking the slick folds as he had done earlier that evening. My hips attempted to buck forward, eager for more. A sound between a groan and a growl rumbled in Tom’s chest.

I whined petulantly when he unleashed me and moved away. All I could sense was the carpet beneath my knees, and the tremor of my own heart hammering in my chest. I gasped as something whispered across my shoulder blades. I couldn’t work out how Tom had managed to sneak around behind me without me hearing him. It brushed down my spine, swirling lightly over the soles of my feet. It was a feather- or feathers. I squirmed and tried not to giggle as it tickled the tender skin on my feet. I breathed a sigh of relief when it migrated north, this time stroking the strained muscles of my arms, twirling to the back of my neck and sweeping down across my collarbones. I sensed Tom moving around to my side, directing the feathers to caress my ribs and stomach, completely avoiding my breasts which were desperately straining for attention. Tom took his time teasing the tops of my thighs and the swell of my hips. When he finally decided to show my neglected chest some love, my skin was positively tingling with warm sensation. Who would have guessed that feathers could get me so aroused?

I moaned softly as the feathers swirled around and across the hard peaks of my nipples. It was just a whisper of a touch, and it felt amazing, but I wanted more. The feathers kissed my flushed skin goodbye, and I felt Tom move to stand in front of me.

“Are you well, Charlotte?” he enquired.

“Yes, Tom.”

“You look exquisite like this…” he murmured huskily, pressing his thumb firmly against the seam of my lips. I opened my mouth obediently, sucking the pad of his thumb and nipping my teeth over the joint, hollowing my cheeks as I lavished his digit with my tongue. Tom breathed out harshly, grasping my jaw with his fingers. I hadn’t gone down on Tom before, and he hadn’t gone down on me either, but I was definitely eager for the opportunity- simulation would have to suffice for the time being.

“Look up,” Tom commanded. I tilted my head up towards the sound of his voice, obviously still unable to actually ‘look’. I heard the sound of a phone camera snapping a picture- of me. I hesitated, stopping my adoration of Tom’s thumb.

“Just for our enjoyment, Charlotte,” he assured me, tenderly stroking along my jawline. I relaxed and resumed my actions, pleased by his use of the word ‘our’ rather than ‘my’. The thought of seeing how I currently looked- kneeling, blindfolded and sucking Tom’s thumb- sent an unexpected flash of heat through my veins and straight to my core.

“You’re doing so wonderfully, Charlotte. I almost regret having to punish you,” he said, pulling his thumb from my mouth with an audible ‘pop’. He didn’t sound remorseful in the least. But what was he punishing me for? Was it a trick? If I asked why he had to punish me, I would be disobeying what he had told me earlier about speaking out of turn…which would lead to punishment. Quite the conundrum.

“Would you like to know why I’m going to punish you, Charlotte?” Tom asked, mercifully.

“Yes, Tom.” The blindfold slid away, allowing me to see him again. I had rather hoped that we were done with the games, and could move onto the piece de resistance. Apparently not.

“Well, Charlotte, there have been so many infractions on our original agreement that it’s too difficult to keep an exact tally…but you have been misbehaving far too much for my liking,” he said wickedly, twisting the blindfold in his hands. “Don’t misunderstand me,” he continued, starting to pace restlessly, “I enjoy that little spark you have, but too often it gets in the way of you showing your proper deference to me. I will have to remedy that.” I gulped, feeling pinpricks of fear jolting my senses. ‘What is he going to do to me?’

“How do you think I should punish you, Charlotte?” I immediately worried that he was actually asking me to choose my own mode of correction- I wouldn’t put it past him.

“I…I don’t know, Tom,” I said quietly. He didn’t look too pleased with my answer, so I quickly amended: “Whatever you want, Tom.” He smiled very slowly, showing only a brief flash of his pearly whites.

“Well answered…” He walked back to the chest, tossing the blindfold inside and shutting the heavy lid. I breathed a sigh of relief. ‘But what’s he going to punish me with now?’ He sat down on the edge of the bed, planting his feet firmly on the ground, several feet apart.

“Stand up and come to me,” he commanded. I released my arms immediately, rolling my shoulders back to work out the creaks as I stood, a little unsteadily, and walked over to him.

“Lie across my lap.” I stopped dead, staring down at him in shock. His sharp blue gaze didn’t waver for an instant. I knew then exactly what my punishment was going to be.

“Don’t make me tell you twice, Charlotte,” he reproved. I didn’t want to add to my punishment, so I clambered up, resting my stomach over his spread thighs. Tom pulled me closer, adjusting me so that I wouldn’t fall forwards or backwards. My toes just about grazed the floor, and my head dipped down on the other side. It was all very undignified, but the feeling of Tom’s hard cock pressing into my side kept my mind on more pleasant thoughts. Tom groaned contentedly, smoothing his hand over my ass, grabbing and squeezing the abundant flesh. I’m not exactly gifted in the chest area, but I do have one hell of an ample derriere.

Tom grasped my wrists with his left hand, pinning them to the small of my back, so that I wouldn’t be tempted to get in his way. I tried to calm myself, regulate my breathing before the first smack came.

“I’m feeling lenient Charlotte, so I think ten will suffice for now,” he said, resting his palm over one cheek; his hands were so big that they covered a large expanse of skin. ‘Ten is lenient?!’ I wasn’t sure I would survive one, let alone ten. I also wasn’t sure how hard Tom was going to hit. I tensed up completely. “And I want you count each one, Charlotte. Understood?”

“Yes, Tom,” I whispered. My nerves were buzzing with adrenaline, anticipating the oncoming pain as Tom drew his hand back. I bit my lip, worried that I might scream like an idiot.

“Ah!” I shrieked, as the first strike landed, searing my skin.

“I don’t think that’s a number, Charlotte,” Tom remarked fiendishly, smacking me in the same place as before.

“O-one!”

“Good girl,” he purred, swatting the other, virgin cheek this time. I whimpered.

“Two!” I was already doubting my ability to make it to ten. Tom began to hit faster, moving from one cheek to the other in an uneven but rapid rhythm.

“Three!…Four!…F-five!…Six!” I winced as he hit noticeably harder on the seventh. ‘Almost… there!’ My eyes were streaming with tears, but I wouldn’t give in…something about it felt absurdly enjoyable. I was going to make it to ten, even if it did feel as though he had taken a match to my skin.

“Eight! N-nine! T-ten!” I practically wailed with joy when it was over. Tom stroked his palm tenderly over my poor buttocks, but I was so sensitive that even a touch as gentle as that rubbed painfully.

“You did so well, Charlotte. I’m proud of you,” Tom said softly, releasing my wrists and turning me over onto my back. I was still gasping for breath, practically drowning in tears and no doubt my face was as red as a tomato, but I managed to smile weakly up at him. He leaned down, delicately kissing my forehead. His sweetness surprised me, considering he had likely just gifted me with a couple of weeks’ worth of bruising on my arse. Tom lifted me bridal style and laid me in the centre of the bed, pushing off the mountain of cushions and unnecessary pillows. The grate of the fancy Egyptian cotton sheets was too much for my burning butt, so I attempted to shift to a more comfortable position.

“No Charlotte, stay as you are,” Tom admonished, splaying a hand across my belly and pinning me into place. I huffed slightly, but did as instructed. As I stared at the ceiling, I heard the whirr of Tom’s belt flying from its loops. I glanced over to where he stood at the side of the bed, and watched him undress- at long last.

“See something you like?” Tom smirked, unbuttoning his shirt. I blushed slightly at being caught ogling.

“Yes, Tom.”

“Me, too,” he replied, raking his eyes along my body and licking his lips as he pushed down his trousers and boxers together. It was my turn to lick my lips; his thick cock was almost purple with need, the stark vein running along the side begging to be touched. I realised that, although I had gotten off earlier, he hadn’t had that benefit. Perhaps that was why he was in such a rush- he had rolled on a condom and nestled between my spread legs before I even realised. His lovely long fingers probed my centre, checking that I was still wet enough after my ‘punishment’.

“You’re absolutely soaking,” he groaned. With no preamble, he replaced his fingers with the tip of his cock. He pushed into me slowly, even though I could see it was a strain for him; his jaw was clenched, and his neck was flushed and taut. His arms trembled slightly on either side of my head. We moaned together when he reached the hilt. Before he had even moved within me, I could feel my orgasm building; my body was elated to finally be getting what it had craved.

Tom took a deep breath, drawing out and jerking his hips forward powerfully. I knew that he wasn’t going to last too long either, all the anticipation had us both completely wired. I wound my feet around his bum, pulling his pelvis down closer to mine, so that he was grinding against my clit with every thrust. My hands scrabbled for purchase on his smooth back as he bucked harder and faster, his rhythm beginning to falter. He buried his face into my neck, sucking and biting at the skin, marking me. The room was filled with the sounds of our moans and groans, and the wet, squelching sound of our bodies coming together. As his movements became more desperate, his fingers migrated to my clit, pinching and rubbing it in earnest.

“Tom!” I whined, throwing my head back and exposing my throat to his ravaging mouth.

“Come, Charlotte. Come!” He groaned against my skin. One more deep thrust and my body seized up completely. I shrieked to the Heavens as little stars skittered across my vision. Tom pumped in and out a few more times before coming to a stop, dropping a bit of his weight onto me. I gasped for breath, stroking my hands along his shuddering ribs. We were both dripping in sweat, but I actually rather liked having Tom pressed against me. Somehow he still managed to smell good after all that strenuous activity- pure masculine man.

Tom pushed up onto his forearms and smiled down at me, his eyelids still heavy with desire.

“You were wonderful, Charlotte,” he complimented, leaning down and pressing several soft kisses to my lips. I smiled, pleased that he was pleased.

Tom rolled off me and headed towards the bathroom. I lay back, trying to catch my erratic breath, and basking in the warm, fuzzy feeling that was starting to make me want to nod off. Tom reappeared a moment later, holding a bottle of lotion. I tilted my head in question. ‘Surely we aren’t going for round two? I haven’t the stamina!’

“Aloe vera,” he explained, kneeling on the bed beside me and gently rolling me over onto my front. I gasped when the cool liquid hit my searing skin- it felt so good, even better when Tom began massaging it in with careful strokes. I was somewhat surprised that he was being so thoughtful, especially considering that a sore arse was my ‘punishment’, but I certainly wasn’t going to complain about my impromptu massage from his glorious hands.

“I wasn’t sure how you would hold up with the spanking. I must say, I’m impressed,” Tom said quietly, discarding the lotion and lying down beside me, pulling the sheets up over us. I turned to face him, drawing my legs up and placing my head on my hand, trying to get comfortable in a strange bed.

“I kind of…enjoyed it, Tom- but it did hurt,” I added quickly, not wanting him to think it was too soft of a punishment for future use. Tom smiled, reaching across to pull me against his chest; he held me tightly, stroking my hair and back soothingly. I hadn’t expected cuddling, but it felt quite nice. I buried my face against his chest, enjoying the warmth of his body.

After several minutes of silence, Tom spoke.

“Lights out.” The room sunk into darkness. I felt Tom press a kiss to my scalp.

“Goodnight, Charlotte,” he whispered.

“Goodnight, Tom.”


	8. Chapter 8

I groaned loudly as I was jostled awake at an absolutely ungodly hour of the morning. Bar exam time, my rule is: if the sun isn’t up, I shouldn’t be either. That’s basic prehistoric science right there.

Fingertips brushed along my forehead, jolting my memory into place. I wasn’t at home. I wasn’t in my bed. 

“I’m going for a run. Go back to sleep,” murmured a velvety voice, as the fingers stroked along my cheek. The voice sounded very sensible and authoritative, so I decided to do what it recommended.

*

“Charlotte…Charlotte…” I gripped the pillow tighter, jamming it against my right to ear to try and block out the sound of the voice pulling me back into consciousness. A warm palm slid down my spine, making my whole body jitter. ‘Damn him.’

I groaned again, squeezing my eyes shut. I didn’t want to be rude to the man who had fucked me senseless and let me kip in his very comfy bed, but I really wanted to not be awake. I just couldn’t figure out how to communicate this to him politely.

“Tom!” I gasped, jerking my head up as the duvet whipped back, leaving my naked arse bare to the world- and the cool spring air.

“Time to get up,” he said, failing to hide a very smug smile. I considered trying to reach for the sheets to cover my dignity, but all in all it felt like a fairly pointless gesture.

“No,” I replied flatly, wrapping my arms around the plump pillow and burying my face in it. It smelt delicious, like pine trees and mint and…Tom.

“Yes,” he insisted, pulling strands of my tousled hair away from my face. I pouted into the pillow- it was a losing battle.

“I thought you were going for a run.” He laughed.

“I just got back.”

“Go on another one,” I suggested, cheekily. I yelped as his hand connected with my arse, my poor, already abused arse. ‘Bloody hell!’ I had forgotten about the previous night’s spanking. My skin was on fire thanks to his reminder to show a little more deference.

“What was that for?” I wailed, pushing onto my elbows and glaring up at him. He was standing in his usual power stance, the sleeveless black running top showing off his long, muscular arms. His face was slightly flushed and damp with sweat, just as it had been the night before. ‘Strenuous exercise…’

“For being an impudent little minx,” he drawled, running the back of his hand over my scalding behind. “I must say, this is a lovely shade of pink on you,” he teased, grinning wickedly. I huffed angrily, hiding my face again.

Tom ran out of patience. I was rolled onto my back and scooped into his arms before I could even register what had happened. He strode towards the bathroom, carrying me as if I weighed nothing at all. ‘So undignified!’

“Put me down, Tom,” I implored, not sounding too convincing. He ignored me.

“You’re all sweaty and gross,” I complained, wriggling away from him as he set me on the counter by the sink. I shuddered at the feeling of the cold marble on my butt- it was heaven. Tom chuckled, reaching into the walk-in shower and flipping the water on.

“If I recall correctly, you were very sweaty too, a few hours ago,” he replied, smirking, “And that’s why we’re going to have a shower, now.” He pulled his tee shirt over his head and chucked it aside.

“Why do I have to take a shower with you?” I breathed, trying to maintain my grumpy morning attitude. The sight of his lovely bare torso was making it very difficult; all I could think about was licking his collarbones (conveniently at my mouth-level) and tracing the deep V of his hips as he unabashedly pushed down his jogging bottoms and boxers. ‘Wow wow wow! Get a grip on yourself woman! This is business, remember? Control your hormones!’

Tom gripped my knees, pushing them wide apart and pulled my hips to the very edge of the countertop, positioning himself in the gap. My legs itched to wrap around his lean hips.

Tom licked his upper lip slowly, his long tongue pointed enticingly as he stared down at me. ‘Bastard. He knows exactly what he’s doing!’

“How are you?” he asked, his voice deeper than before. My brain fought hard to formulate a proper reply.

“Uh…I’m good, thanks…and you?”

“Terrific.” His blue-grey eyes were focussed on my parted lips, and I automatically leaned forward. His arms slid around my back, pulling me towards him. We were a hair’s breadth from kissing when he whispered: “Hold on.”

I started when he picked me up again, holding my body against his. I wrapped my arms and legs around him like a monkey on a banana tree. One of his hands tucked under my arse, pulling me up higher as he walked us into the enormous shower. He even managed to close the door hands-free, using those talented hips. I didn’t know why he was carrying me everywhere, but being pressed up against him skin-to-skin was definitely not worth arguing over.

When he adjusted me, I felt the evidence of his appreciation nudging against my inner thigh. My stomach fizzed with anticipation for my first ever experience of the fabled ‘shower sex’. Okay, maybe ‘fabled’ isn’t the right word; Saranya told me that she had only ever done it once, and between her eyelash glue, mascara and contact lenses, it had been an underwhelming and borderline dangerous ordeal. I rather hoped it would be better between Tom and I. Certainly, he hadn’t let me down thus far.

**

I perched on the edge of the unmade bed, raking my fingers though my hair, attempting to blow dry it into a semi acceptable formation. I caught my own reflection in the mirror; I looked like a sulking child, all furrowed brow and pouting lips. ‘Why didn’t he want me?’

Tom and I had not had the fabled shower sex. We had barely even had fabled shower foreplay. Admittedly, the sudsy, slippery groping (from both parties) had been extremely enjoyable, and I could have collapsed from bliss when he massaged shampoo into my scalp with those wicked long fingers…but I couldn’t understand why he had drawn back, subtly nudging away when I attempted to kick things up a notch. It certainly looked like he wanted me, so why hadn’t he taken me? My skin prickled with the memory of rejection.

I glared at myself. ‘Last night was amazing…but is he bored of me already? Am I just a dirty little stop-out, all challenge gone?’ I told myself I wasn’t upset about Tom- I didn’t care if he wanted me or not. So long as our arrangement continued; one month was almost up, I would be £5000 richer very soon, and I had successfully quietened down any semblance of my own morality. It was all going swimmingly. ‘But why didn’t he want me?’

I gave up on my hair; unwilling to spend another thirty minutes drying it properly, I twisted it into a braid, tying the end into a knot to hold it in place due to my lack of a hair bobble. I grimly realised that I would probably be cutting the knot off later that evening. Oh well.

A crisp white shirt lay on the bed in lieu of my dress. I cursed him. Something about wearing his shirt felt far too intimate. Maybe it was the fact that I would be naked underneath. My decision not to wear knickers the night before didn’t seem so smart then. I tugged it on, rolling the sleeves up several times to free my hands. The hem was not as long as I would have hoped. I tried not to revel in how much the thick cotton smelt of Tom.

Where was he? He had disappeared a solid twenty minutes beforehand, no sign of return. I peered cautiously out the door, taking in the abandoned first landing. My stomach growled like a dying animal, my mouth watering as I followed the smell of bacon downstairs, and into the kitchen. I paused in the doorway, watching Tom at the stove, tapping his foot to a tune only he could hear. He was dressed casually, in a fitted pale blue jumper and jeans. I begrudgingly acknowledged that he looked rather phenomenal- from the back, anyway.

“You made breakfast,” I remarked, stating the obvious. Tom looked over his shoulder at me and smiled.

“Yes, I thought that perhaps if I offered you food, you wouldn’t be so eager to leave,” he said teasingly, recalling my flying departure on our first ‘morning after the night before’. I blushed at the memory. ‘God, why must I always embarrass myself?’

“Come here,” Tom commanded, turning away from the stove. I shuffled hesitantly across the kitchen, painfully aware that his shirt, although over-sized, was still quite revealing, especially considering I was knickerless. Tom’s arm wrapped right around my shoulders, pulling me up against his warm body. He dipped his head, kissing me softly and affectionately. ‘Thank God I sneaked a use of his mouthwash!’

“Good morning,” he murmured, rubbing his nose against mine. His eyes were incredibly bright and blue, the skin around the edges crinkled lightly with a smile. He was being so sweet and…loving. It felt bizarre- far too ‘romcom’. In fact, the whole set up: cooked breakfast, and me in one of his shirts after a night of great sex just screamed ‘couple alert!’ Where had aggressive- alpha Tom gone? Him I could handle.

I tentatively pulled back, leaning away from him subtly to re-establish some semblance of personal space.

“So, uh, what are you cooking?” I asked brightly, nosing at the three sizzling pans. Tom finally released my shoulders, and I stepped further away, shifting onto my far foot and trying to make it seem natural. Tom cleared his throat.

“Full English. I think it’s ready now, why don’t you take a seat?” he said, turning his attention back to the stove.

“Oh, uh yes, Tom.” I scuttled over to the breakfast bar, ungracefully hoisting myself up onto one of the high seats, and wincing slightly at the stinging sensation of my poor bottom. I had checked it in the tall mirror in Tom’s room before coming down- it was absolutely glowing reddish pink. My face had glowed reddish pink too when I saw it, recalling just how my derriere had gotten into such a state. I had never considered spanking to be erotic before- Tom proved me wrong once again.

I glanced over at Tom, absently biting a bit of skin on my thumb. I vaguely thought his shoulders looked a little more slumped than usual; normally he stands as if he still has the hanger in his shirt. ‘Perhaps he’s tired after our antics last night…that run at the crack of dawn probably didn’t help matters, either.’

***

“There are a few things we need to discuss,” Tom stated, breaking the slightly tense silence that had pervaded throughout our breakfast. The only tidbit of conversation had occurred when I enquired about my missing dress; Tom informed me that I had sloshed whiskey down it quite badly, and it being so pale, he thought best to steep it immediately. I thought that was rather considerate…but then, he did pay for the damn thing, so I suppose he wouldn’t want me to ruin it after only one outing. I’m so clumsy, really, I don’t deserve nice things.

I fidgeted with the shirt sleeves as he arranged our plates in the dishwasher, beginning to feel a nervous little itch in the back of my mind. It wasn’t that I regretted the things we had done the night before…okay, perhaps I was a little bashful about them, and if I thought about it for too long, I began to feel the stirrings of guilt, but most of all, I just felt inexplicably cagey. I couldn’t put my finger on what exactly it was, but knew it was going to ruin our rather successful run-on dinner-ballet-sex-breakfast date if I didn’t catch a grip.

“Oh, uh… alright, Tom. What is it?” I would have rather preferred being fully clothed for a discussion. “Is my dress ready, do you think?” I asked casually. Frankly, I knew that travelling home in my heels and dress from the night before was definitely going to earn me plenty of shouts and jeers about ‘the walk of shame’, but I’d take that over attempting to conduct an apparently serious conversation while half naked. Tom looked at me for the first time since I had asked what he was cooking. Honestly, I didn’t know what had gotten into him; one minute he’s all over me like a rash and the next, it’s like I’m not even there. Men.

“I’ll check on it. Go on into the drawing room,” he said, disappearing through a non-descript door off the kitchen. I assumed it was the laundry/utility room. The ‘drawing room’, though, I wasn’t so sure about- was it the room we had sat in the night before, or a different room? How could I tell? There were several rooms in the house that would fit such a description. I dithered for a few seconds, cursing under my breath, before deciding upon our usual ‘drawing room’ or sitting room or whatever it’s called. I sat in my seat. Tom returned from the laundry empty-handed –my dress needed a little longer, but did I want to wear something else? A jumper, perhaps? - and sat in his seat. I waited for him to speak first.

He took his time, rubbing a palm over his unshaven cheek and staring thoughtfully into the middle distance. ‘Well, this is awkward…’

“Firstly, Charlotte, I would like to apologise for last night-”

“For what?” I asked, utterly perplexed. Tom narrowed his eyes a fraction. ‘Oops, shouldn’t have interrupted. I’m going to end up paying for that.’

“I apologise for getting so carried away, it was remiss of me,” he said, in a brooding tone, steepling his fingers together. I had no idea what he was on about.

“What do you mean, Tom?” I asked, frowning. Did he regret what we had done?

“I shouldn’t have jumped right in without us having had a proper conversation about aspects of my… sexual preferences. I couldn’t resist your request, but that’s no excuse. I didn’t do things as I should have. I sincerely hope I haven’t frightened you, that was never my intention.” ‘Is that why you’ve been blowing hot and cold all morning?’

“Oh…you didn’t frighten me, Tom. I meant what I said. I enjoyed it, all of it,” I admitted, bashfully, still barely able to believe the truth behind my words. His eyes met mine, and a smile tugged at the edges of his mouth.

“I am very glad. Nonetheless, if you are certain that you are entirely happy with pursuing this course, we need to talk about boundaries and such.”

“Boundaries? What does-”

“Charlotte, I am asking you this, and I need a firm response either way. Are you willing to engage in a dominant-submissive relationship with me?” He asked, staring at me intensely. I was really baffled at that point- I had thought that our ‘arrangement’, had been dom/sub from the beginning…or at least, that Tom had always been pushing it in that direction, both sexually and non-sexually. But that he was asking me this, in all seriousness, implied that should I say yes, the nature of our relationship was going to change. It felt like a more official agreement on my part; as if I had tested our ‘arrangement’ for a few weeks, and now I was required to either commit entirely or dissolve it and never see him again.

“Charlotte?” Tom’s voice brought me back down to Earth; and I realised that I hadn’t actually voiced any of my concerns out loud.

“What if I didn’t want to? Would our ‘arrangement’ stop?” I asked, as neutrally as possible. Tom’s expression tightened slightly.

“I wouldn’t want it to, but I told you what I was the first time we met. I can’t change the way I am. I’m looking for someone who is willing to go there with me. If you don’t feel that this is something you wish to pursue, I completely understand… but I don’t want an unwilling partner. This type of relationship is defined by mutual consent, desire, and respect. It isn’t for everyone, I know,” he explained, looking –and sounding- quite ruffled, not his usual image of eloquence and poise. I realised that this was him being vulnerable. Not only was he explaining himself, more deeply than he’d ever done so before, but he was also giving me the opportunity to reject him after such a sensitive exposé. I thought I saw a whisper of fear mingling with the apprehension in his eyes. I walked over to his chair, perching on the armrest. His hand instantly settled on my hip, securing me.

“Will it change?” I said quietly, looking down at the hem of his shirt, tickling the tops of my thighs.

“Will what change?” He asked softly, looking up at me.

“Our relationship. Will it be very different, if I say yes?” Tom smiled, ever so slightly.

“You set the boundaries, Charlotte, not me.” I frowned.

“I do?” ‘Surely the ‘Dom’ is always in charge? Isn’t that the point?’

He nodded.

“I don’t understand, Tom,” I confessed.

“Well, before we do anything, sex-wise, we’ll have discussed it in advance, and if you’re uncomfortable or unhappy with something, we simply won’t do it. Additionally, if we’re in the midst of doing something and you realise that you’re unhappy, all you have to do is say the safe word and we stop. End of story. That I promise you.” I screwed my face up, gathering courage to ask the next question.

“What about…non-sex wise. Do I…have to call you ‘sir’ all the time?” I asked, blushing profusely. I may or may not have conducted a little Google search on the whole dom/sub situation. All I managed to glean was that there was a kaleidoscope of opinions and fetishes, but I did discover that ‘sir’ was a very popular name for doms.

Tom chuckled softly, rubbing circles into the flesh on my hip. “No, you do not. For the most part, I’m perfectly content with you calling me by my name. And I will only ever call you by yours, unless you desire me to call you something else?” I blushed even more.

“No uh…Charlotte is fine, really. So…I won’t have to act differently with you in public or anything?”

Tom shook his head. “No different than you have been. Of course, our original agreement stands, and as such, I still expect you to be polite and deferent to me at all times… You do understand, don’t you Charlotte, that I don’t think that you are lesser than me? We are equals.” I stared at him in shock. ‘Then what in hell’s name is the point of the whole dom/sub malarkey?’

“But, then…why are you a dom at all? I don’t get it. I thought doms, well…dominated.”

“Being a dominant isn’t about shaming your submissive or, destroying their sense of self-worth. Not for me, anyway, I can’t speak for everyone who calls themselves a ‘dom’. It’s about control. The pleasure that the control brings both parties, the closeness- it’s like nothing else.” I tried to take all of the new information on board. Honestly, it was a lot to handle; my entire perception of a dom/sub relationship was shifting drastically. I realised that I hadn’t known squat beforehand.

“Have you always been a dominant, Tom?” I asked, curiously.

“No, not always,” Tom paused thoughtfully. “I suppose I’ve always had the attributes of one, but I didn’t know anything about it until university. Between you and me, Cambridge is one hell of a kinky place,” he said, winking at me and grinning. I giggled.

“So it took you a while to become comfortable being a dom?”

“Yes, that’s a good way to put it.” We lapsed back into silence. Tom traced figure-of-eights on my hip.

“How do I know if I’m a sub?” I blurted out, dying to know the answer. I didn’t think I was a female dom…scratch that, I knew I wasn’t a female dom. But how could I know if I was a sub? Did I have the ‘attributes’? Tom considered for a moment before answering me.

“You wanted me to dominate you last night, yes?”

“Yes, Tom.” The corners of his mouth twitched slightly.

“And you say you enjoyed it. You enjoyed me telling you what to do, controlling you?” he probed, fixing me in his steady gaze. I twisted my hands together. My palms were becoming damp with sweat.

“Yes, I did.”

“Charlotte…” he murmured, tilting my face up with a hand on my jaw, “You like to be praised, don’t you? You like to please people.”

I blinked at him slowly, letting his words sink in. He was absolutely right, completely spot-on. Was my character so easy to read? I had been called ‘goody two shoes’ and ‘teacher’s pet’ all my life, because I couldn’t bear to disappoint the people I wanted to impress- my grandparents, teachers, GB leaders. Authority figures. Was Tom a new addition to that list? Shaking off that constant nagging, buzzing voice in my head, letting him take the reins…it had been incredible, exhilarating, giving him control over me. I hadn’t felt so free in years.

I nodded, agreeing to his description.

Tom grasped my hand in his. “I told you before, I want to mould you into my submissive partner. I want to control you- I want you to want me to control you. I believe that we’re good together- that we will be good together. But only if you want to.”

I worried my chapped bottom lip with my teeth. I stopped my hand from tapping anxiously on my leg. I counted the faint freckles on the bridge of Tom’s nose. ‘Eleven’.

“Yes, Tom. I do want to,” I whispered. My voice was quiet, but decisive. I was really willing to give this a shot- after all, what did I have to lose? And not that I would have admitted it, not even under oath, but I couldn’t imagine walking away from him for good.

Tom’s features relaxed into a radiant smile. He pulled me into his lap and into another dizzying kiss, a little more forceful that the one before breakfast. I could practically feel the excitement fizzing off him. I couldn’t help but smile at how happy he was; it was so sweet, and it felt so nice to be wanted.

“Now…” he hummed, pulling reluctantly away from my lips. “We really must discuss boundaries, Charlotte. It’s imperative,” he added, noticing my reticent expression. Ridiculous, I know, but doing sexy things was generally not a problem…talking about them, on the other hand, always embarrassed me beyond belief.

“Yes, Tom,” I said meekly. He reached for a thick notepad and pen on the side table. ‘What, are we making a list?’

“To begin with, are there any things that you are absolutely uncomfortable with?” He enquired, pen poised over paper. I squirmed in his lap, knowing that the response: ‘this conversation’, would not be appreciated. I gnawed on my tongue, trying to think of something to say. Embarrassment must have been rolling off me in waves.

“I know this may seem strange, Charlotte. But communication is crucial for our relationship,” he remarked, reasonably. I nodded in agreement.

“Yes, Tom.” But still, I had no answers. Only blushes. We waited another painful moment, before Tom felt the beginning of mercy.

“Hmmm…if I were to write a preliminary list, would you be comfortable to mark which activities you are happy to pursue? Would that help?” he asked, kindly. His steely eyes were surprisingly soft and warm when I dared to look to them.

“Yes, Tom. Thank you.” He nodded, starting to quickly scrawl out a list. A surprisingly long list. An alarmingly long list. ‘Are these all the things that he likes? But there’s so many!’

“I think I shall check on your dress. Would you like a cup of tea?” he asked, gently depositing me in his chair, leaving the pen and notepad in my lap. ‘Skilful manoeuvre’.

“Yes please, Tom,” I smiled. I was honestly surprised by his tactfulness. A week, two weeks ago, I would have expected him to brutishly demand answers from me, with little care for how uncomfortable I was.

I waited for him to disappear through the doorway before I summoned the chutzpah to read ‘the list’. I couldn’t bear to look; it was very like how I felt every time I got a mark back from an assignment in uni- I had to know, but I was bloody terrified to find out.

‘Right just go for it, just go…oh God, okay. Pull your shit together Charlotte Lavendar Green. You can do this.’

It was a comprehensive list. Tom had, where possible, avoided total obscenities, but in some cases he had no choice. I almost choked on my tongue when I saw the words ‘anal play’ written in his beautiful cursive script. A firm ‘X’ went beside that one. I honestly didn’t see that I would ever, ever be okay with him sticking it there. I hoped he wouldn’t be too disappointed. I considered substituting it for a ‘~’- maybe. ‘No, hold your ground!’

Bondage (ropes, spreader bars, ties), spanking and sensory deprivation (blindfold) all made an appearance, all received a tick of approval. I hmmed and haaed over gags, and ‘toys’ (vibrators and –ahem- the non-vibrating kind), but eventually chose ticks, with a little ‘~’ beside. If I changed my mind, I only needed to say the word. ‘Oral’ got a very enthusiastic tick; I almost double-ticked, but decided against seeming too eager. On and on the list went. The fact that Tom had managed to compose it in a matter of minutes told me a lot. He was an eager man. ‘When he wants to be. He wasn’t eager in the shower this morning.’ I was pouting again. I recalled his apology, his fear that he had pushed me too far. He knew I was like a skittish pony, perhaps he had been afraid to pressurise me after the excitement of the previous evening.

I glanced over the list again, checking that my choices were sound. Frankly, there were so many things on the list that I had never even considered before, let alone actually partaken in. My decisions were based on gut instinct about what I could handle, and what got me hot under the collar just reading about.

When Tom returned, laden with tea and biscuits, he silently accepted the notepad, but placed it on the table without looking at it. Perhaps he was as anxious to read it as I had been.

“Are you free next Saturday evening?” Tom asked, as I sipped on my scalding tea. I wracked my brain for a moment. Rather unnecessarily; I had all but dedicated the weekends to being available exclusively for Tom.

“Yes, Tom.”

“Good. I want you to attend a gala with me.” I raised my eyebrows. ‘A gala? How fancy!’

“What is the gala for, Tom?” I enquired, wondering if he actually knew, or cared. Tom bit the inside of his mouth, making his cheekbones even more pronounced.

“The Children’s Cancer and Leukaemia Foundation,” he said, his eyes flashing with a slight challenge. He knew exactly what I had thought. In my defence, it does seem like most rich people go to galas and benefits just to wear fancy clothes and jewels, and neck champagne by the vat. He looked as though he may say more, but he refrained, taking a long gulp of tea instead. I worried that I had offended him.

“I would love to go with you, Tom. Is it black tie?” I was already panicking about what to wear. If I was going to be attending with Tom in one of his ‘fuck-me-brainless’ three-piece suits, I wanted to look amazing. I didn’t want any of the posh attendees to see me and think: ‘What is Hiddleston doing with that poor, ugly little tramp?’

Tom chuckled, smiling at me.

“Don’t worry, Charlotte. Leave everything to me.”


	9. Chapter 9

A glorified prostitute. A scarlet ‘A’ should have been pinned to my pyjama top.

When I woke up on that miserable Tuesday morning, I had glanced at the date on my phone and thought ‘why does that ring a bell?’ Then I realised that I had delayed my alarm by twenty minutes while in a semi-sleep coma state, and in the ensuing rush to get ready, I forgot all about that little niggle in the back of my mind.

It wasn’t until about nine at night (by which time I had already slipped back into my fluffy pyjamas) that it hit me like a lorry. One month. I almost tore my calendar from the wall, counting back the dates: ‘18th…25th…1st…8th.’ Four weeks exactly.

My knees jittered as I logged into the account. Tom had set up a low-yield savings account for me, with a monthly direct debit of £5000 channelling into it from his own (presumably well endowed) account. I stared at the three little zeroes, hardly able to believe they were mine. My fingers tapped of their own accord, opening tabs for Zara, Topshop, Oasis…

It took my mind a second to catch up. I wasn’t happy. The three little zeroes and their friend, Five, did not make me happy. I felt ill, and repulsed, and weird. I should have been delighted to have that money; I bloody well earned it. Tom Hiddleston is a hard man to get along with, let alone ‘date’. But…sometimes, when he wasn’t being completely bull-headed and insufferable, it was easy to forget the real nature of our relationship. A relationship in which I was paid to be with him.

I settled my £1000 overdraft immediately, but I didn’t feel much relief. I left the rest in the savings account, and snapped my laptop shut. I suddenly didn’t fancy going on a shopping spree. I brought a packet of hobnobs and a soup-bowl-sized mug of tea to the cocoon of my duvet, and watched several hours of ‘Friends’. I was as glum as the grey weather outside.

*

“Bonjour Monsieur Tomas!” I cried, opening the door to my building. I was a bag of nerves and excitement- the gala of fabulousness was that very evening. I had barely slept the night before. I was a mixture of sleep-deprivation, anxiety, and a large bottle of energy juice.

“Bonjour. Tu peux parler en Français?” Tom enquired, laughing slightly. He looked so good, standing on my porch, with his Raybans folded over the neck of his crisp white shirt and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows showing off his freckled forearms. We had only spoken briefly during the week; Tom checked that the money had gone into my account, then I called him asking about arrangements for the gala, then he called me, just for a chit chat. We hadn’t discussed ‘the List’, which, in my head, is always emboldened and underlined, to emphasise how ominous it is. I had resolved not to mention (or even think about) the money sitting in the savings account ever again.

“Eh, no. That’s as far as I go, I’m afraid,” I confessed, pouting. Languages are not my forte- speaking to people in English is stressful enough at times. “Let me guess, you speak it fluently?” Tom nodded, but had the good grace to look humble. I invited him into the inner sanctum- I had tidied the flat top to bottom the evening before, and it was sparkling. Still small and drab, but flawlessly clean.

“I’ve never been to France,” I admitted, traipsing up the narrow communal stairs.

“You would love Paris,” Tom said, sounding very certain. I looked back over my shoulder at him, and tried not to feel too smug when I caught him ogling my derriere.

“How can you be so sure, Tom?” I was only teasing, I was quite sure he was right. I had always wanted to go, just to see if it lived up to all the romanticized hype.

“Because, I know that you have excellent taste.” My laughter echoed in stairwell.

“Here we are,” I said nervously, unlocking the door. I wanted to brace him for how small and plain my accommodation was, he may never have seen anything like it. I turned to face him, leaning back against the door. He raised his eyebrows at me in question.

“Is there a password I don’t know about?”

“No…”

“An entrance fee, perhaps?” he whispered, one hand grasping the doorframe above me. He leaned down, and I felt his breath on my forehead. That wasn’t exactly what I had paused for, but best to grab an opportunity when it arises. I nodded, looking up at him through my eyelashes.

He trailed his thumb along my jaw, catching my lips between his and kissing me with an intensity that made my knees wobble so badly I had to clutch the door handle for support.

“So…can I come in now?” he murmured, raising his talented eyebrow. I nodded mutely, opening the door without even turning around. Before I stepped inside, I paused again. Tom tilted his head, watching me curiously.

“It’s not that I don’t want you to come in…it’s just uh…my flat isn’t…well, fancy,” I explained apologetically, splaying my palms outward. Tom stooped slightly to get through the doorway, which made my lower belly flutter in a way it really shouldn’t have. I watched anxiously as Tom surveyed our modest living room.

“It’s so tidy,” Tom remarked, and I beamed with pride. “Our university house was like a pigsty, that’s the trouble when five teenage boys live in the same place,” he mused. I slowly shut the door, relieved that Tom didn’t seem as if he was likely to try and bolt for Belgravia at any moment.

“So you don’t mind it? It’s quite plain and tiny-”

“It is small and lovely, like you,” Tom said softly, twisting a stray strand of hair back into place behind my ear. I blushed, feeling the tips of my ears redden.

“I would’ve said I was more plain and tiny too, but-”

“Charlotte, when I compliment you, you are not to argue, understood?” Tom said seriously, frowning lightly. I blushed even more, and nodded, resolving simply to argue in my head, where he couldn’t hear.

“Uh…I’m just finishing packing,” I said, scratching at my forearm. Tom nodded, waiting for me to do something. I reluctantly led the way to my bedroom; I have a weird thing about people coming into my room, it’s my private little nest.

“I’ll only be a minute, I just need to fold a few things,” I babbled, standing awkwardly by my clothes-strewn bed. Tom roamed slowly into the small space, looking far too large. His eyes flitted inquisitively to my desk, cluttered with pages and my laptop, to my narrow bed, finally settling on the dozens of photographs embellishing the otherwise grimly off-white walls.

He seemed content to have a nosey, so I got down to hastily packing my things. I watched him out of the corner of my eye; my stomach constricted when he lifted a little white card from where I had propped it up against a photo frame on my desk, no doubt drawn by his own handwriting. I cursed myself for not hiding it away, worried that he would read into me keeping his sweet note- the roses had passed on a few days before. But he made no comment, and set it back down. I could only partially see his face, but it looked like he was smiling.

“And where is your elusive housemate?” he enquired, breaking me out of my reverie. He was peering up at the huge, heart-shaped collage of photographs on my wall. A lot of them were from my awkward brace-face teenage years- I was not a pretty sight. I realised that I had never seen any photos of Tom when he was younger. Actually, I had never seen any photos of him at all. His house was bereft of mementos.

“That’s her there,” I said, reaching on tiptoe to point her out to him. Tom looked intently at the picture of Saranya and I at the Christmas market, mulled wine in mittened hands and cheeks flushed pink from the cold.

“Ah. I’ve never seen her before, now I have a face for the name,” he said. I knew what he was getting at, but I purposefully played dumb. I turned away, refolding my skirt and carefully smoothing it down. Saranya had never seen Tom either…and God willing, that wouldn’t change any time soon.

“Well, she’s such a social butterfly. I hardly see her myself these days!” I said, with false cheer. Tom and I existed in our own little bubble, and I preferred it that way. Running into Anthony had really spooked me; I did not want Tom getting to know any of my friends, or ex-friends, either. “She’s back off to Essex for Easter break, so I probably won’t see her again for a good two weeks.”

“I forgot universities finish for Easter…are you going home?” he asked, turning to face me. ‘Uh oh…guess now’s as good a time as any’.

“Uh, yes, I am. I still have some classes this week, so I’m going on Wednesday evening.” I evaded his gaze, shaking out my skirt and folding it for a third time. Tom snatched it from my hands, and tossed it on the suitcase. I felt the air crackling with sudden tension, and took an instinctive step back.

“And you were going to tell me this when, exactly?” His voice was low- not I’m about to fuck you senseless low, but angry low. I gulped, shifting guiltily, not meeting his eyes. His jaw was clenched, flexing with ill-masked irritation.

“I’m telling you now-”

“Charlotte,” he warned. I remembered our agreement, and taking a deep breath, dialled down the defensive sass.

“I’m sorry, Tom. I meant to tell you earlier, but I’ve had it booked for months, and it slipped my mind,” I said meekly. I really hoped my (much-needed) holiday wasn’t going to interfere with the ‘arrangement’ too much. ‘Is he going to dock me per week for being an absentee girlfriend?’ Tom’s eyes narrowed, as if he doubted my sincerity. I did feel bad for not telling him sooner… but only a little.

“How long will you be away for?” he asked, nonchalantly, the initial anger back under control.

“Just a week, I have a lot of studying to do for my exams in May, so I need to be near the uni library as much as possible.” Tom stared at me for a moment longer. I almost asked: do you think you’ll be able to cope without me? But I realised that may be misconstrued as exceedingly snarky, so I said nothing.

“Very well,” he said, somewhat reluctantly, turning his attention back to my photo wall. I swiftly packed the rest of my necessities, silently congratulating myself on how well I had handled a rather precarious situation. ‘How’s that for deference, Tom?’

“You’ll need to pack more than that, Charlotte,” he remarked, gesturing to my small pile of things. I frowned. I definitely had enough for a hotel sleep over and lunch the next day.

“It’s plenty-”

“Enough for four days?” he asked sceptically. My mind wavered back and forth, trying to make some sense out of what he was saying.

“Four days…?”

“Yes, I do believe there are four days between now and your departure, if you count carefully-”

“No! No, no, no!” I sang half hysterically, pointing my finger at him. I knew where the conversation was going, and I did not like it. Tom smiled humourlessly.

“If you think I’m going to leave you to stay here alone all week, you’re about to be very disappointed,” he said, folding his arms severely. Why didn’t I keep my bloody mouth shut?! Why did I tell him Sara was away? I could have said she was at the shops or something but no. Hysteria wasn’t working, so I tried to reason my way out of it. “I am only concerned for your safety.”

“Tom, really, it’s perfectly safe here. I know the area looks a bit dodgy, and there are some…undesirables dandering about, but honestly, most people around here are lovely. I’ll be perfectly safe, and it’s only a few days,” I insisted, nodding my head enthusiastically. Tom sighed heavily, and moved closer.

“Charlotte, this is not a request,” he stated, laying his hands on my shoulders. His eyes communicated appeal and command. I groaned, slumping my whole frame.

“Ugh, fine! Now I have to repack everything!” I whined, almost stamping my foot like a five-year old. Tom smiled and kissed my forehead. ‘Don’t try and charm me now, you big tyrant!’

“Good girl. I’ll put on the kettle, shall I?”

**

“Holy fuck,” I exclaimed loudly, to the bemusement of Tom and the bellboy. “Sorry, it’s just…wow,” I breathed, gravitating towards the floor-to-ceiling windows that wrapped almost the whole way around the enormous room. The view across the Thames was amazing- I could see the Tower, the Gherkin, miles and miles of London cityscape. The room itself was plush and modern, combining a sitting area and ‘bedroom’, complete with a bucket of champagne and a bed roughly the size of my room. I made eye contact with Tom, who glanced at the bed and waggled his eyebrows at me suggestively, behind the bellboy’s back. I bit back a giggle, feeling my stomach flutter with anticipation. I wandered about, impatient for the bellboy to leave, and stumbled upon the bathroom. It was a masterpiece in black and white marble, but what really drew my eye was the stand-alone bathtub perched right by the window- I decided I would definitely be bathing with a city view the next morning. ‘Perhaps Tom will join me…there’d just about be space if I sat on his lap’.

I shivered at the thought, grinning at myself in the mirror as I walked back into the bedroom.

“Have you seen the pool, Charlotte?” Tom enquired, beckoning me over. I peered through the glass door, clapping my hands in delight when I saw the large infinity pool- it looked as though you could swim right off the edge…and fall 48 floors to a sticky death.

I had to pinch myself. I was in the tallest building in Europe, in the most expensive penthouse suite in London, with the hottest man in the world.

“We can take a dip tomorrow,” Tom assured me, smiling.

“Tom, this room is amazing. I didn’t even know they’d finished these floors,” I said, looping my arm through his as I stared at the tiny cars moving along Tower Bridge.

“Well, this suite isn’t officially open to the public yet, but Robert owed me one,” he explained, shrugging as if it was no big deal to be on first-name terms with billionaire hotel magnates.

“Have you got everything you need, sir?” The young bellboy enquired. Tom thanked him, handing him a wad of notes and shut the door behind him.

Our eyes instantly went to the bed. Tom laughed throatily, running a hand through his hair.

“Unfortunately, I think we’d both best get ready. The car is coming for us at seven, and we really mustn’t be late,” he said ruefully, casting a disappointed glance at the bed as he lifted a small remote, shutting the curtains against the remaining daylight.

***

I emerged from the bathroom to find a surprise on the bed.

The box was matte smokey grey and perfectly smooth under my palms, the interlocking V and W shone silvery in the dim light of the hotel room. I hooked my fingers through the loops of the satiny ribbon, lifting the lid up, up, and away. Layers of tissue paper, like an onion, rustled out of the way, each layer revealing the rich emerald green fading in to focus. And then my fingertips hit the slick, smooth silk, and I gasped, actually gasped at the feel of it, of sheer, expensive luxury. I didn’t want to lift it out of its inky nest, knew that I shouldn’t, but somehow I found myself holding it up against me, pressing it to my towel-covered body like a lover…like, well, Tom. The hem draped a few inches over my feet, but I knew that, in heels, it would be my perfect fit, the dress was clearly tailored –or made- to fit me perfectly.

“I assume you like it, then,” rumbled a voice in my ear, long arms snaking around me and the dress. I jumped slightly at his sudden, silent appearance.

“Of course I do… it’s beautiful, Tom.” My voice sounded high and breathy. Tom chuckled, kissing the crown of my head.

“Careful, Charlotte, I don’t want you preferring it over me,” he whispered right against the ticklish part of my neck, pressing a soft, lingering kiss there.

“Don’t forget to open that little box,” he prodded, indicating the flat turquoise box beside the grey one. I recognised that Tiffany hue immediately. I felt like I had swallowed a boulder. Tom reached out with one hand, lifting the jewellery box over and holding it in front of me. His other hand moved from my hip to flip open the lid.

My jaw dropped. Not in the metaphorical sense- it literally dropped. I had never seen so many diamonds in my life. Each earring was made of three gold circles, hung one on top of the other, and every circle was set with one large stone, and surrounded by about two dozen smaller gems. The bracelet was also gold, embedded with intricate swirls of white diamonds and emeralds. I’m no fine jewellery expert, but I felt certain I was looking at a fancy sports car, or the value of my Nana’s house inside that little box.

“What is it?” Tom must have sensed something was wrong; he moved the box away and allowed me to turn around to face him. I held onto the dress tightly, chewing my lip. I was caught between being unbelievably flattered, and unbelievably horrified.

“Don’t you like them?” he asked, one eyebrow quirking in confusion. There was nothing not to like; they were stunning, and paired with the dress, they would be borderline orgasmic.

“Yes, Tom, I love it all but-”

“But nothing, I bought them for you,” Tom said forcefully, correctly anticipating where my mind was going. I ignored the stubborn set of his jaw and ploughed on.

“I can’t accept all of this! It’s far too extravagant-”

“I invited you to the gala. You told me that you didn’t have anything appropriate to wear, and now you do.”

“But Tom, it’s all so expensive! And you already-”

“Shhh,” he murmured softly, pressing a finger to my lips.

“Tom, I’m serious!” I insisted, moving his hand away. He was throwing money at me. Not just £5000, but much, much more. I couldn’t cope. My poor little mind couldn’t contemplate being around such wealth and expensive luxury.

Tom pressed his lips into a thin line, gritting his jaw again as he set the Tiffany’s box on the bed. I braced myself for an explosion of fury at my own ingratitude. I felt a flood of guilt. ‘He’s probably put such effort in to choosing them especially for me…but, God, how can I accept gifts like this?’

“Very well,” he said, exhaling a long sigh. I was surprised that he didn’t put up more of a fight. “If it helps, let’s pretend that they aren’t for you,” he suggested, suddenly smiling playfully.

“Well…then who are they for, Tom?” I asked, not understanding the game.

“Me.” I burst out laughing, imagining Tom wearing the silky gown, with diamond chandelier earrings.

“They would look well on you, Tom, I’m sure,” I teased.

Tom grinned, shaking his head slightly. “No, not like that. You’ll still be the one wearing them, but it will be my gift.”

“A gift from you to you, Tom? How exactly is me wearing all of this a gift for you?”

“Well, you see darling…” Tom dropped his voice to a whisper, stepping closer to me and pushing the dress back against me, “You may be the one wearing the jewels and the gown, but I shall be the one appreciating how the diamond earrings highlight your slim neck , enjoying the shade of green against your pale skin, admiring how the silk hugs every delicious curve of your body, …” Tom was pressed right up against me, one finger tilting my face up to his while his other hand splayed over my lower back. My heart was hammering, and I was grateful to the low lighting for hiding my blushes. “…and I shall spend the entirety of this evening imagining myself slowly peeling all of it off you and -” he leaned down, lips pressed to my ear, “– ravishing you.”

****

I leant over the marble-top bar, waiting patiently for the hassled barman to come around to me. The beginning of the evening had been stressful; Tom had begun to get very frisky on the limo-ride over, not that I was complaining, he looked magnificent in his Armani tux and he apparently very much appreciated how I looked in my dress. I did, however, complain (under my breath) when the limo suddenly pulled up before either of us had gotten off. I was on edge even before I saw the ridiculously opulent mansion we were at; I had tried not to gawp too much at the interior, but it was difficult for a peasant like myself. I stayed by Tom’s side, being bustled around and introduced to dozens of rich people whose names I forgot as soon as I heard them. I was trying so hard to appear completely at ease in such a classy environment, but it was exhausting. I necked a glass of champagne at the beginning of the night, but didn’t dare vie for any of the other flutes hovering around on platters- I didn’t want to get so wasted that I made an ass of myself in front of these people. Tom had finally taken his leave of me to discuss business with a friend in the smoking area outside. I made a beeline for the bar the second his back was turned.

“Charlotte?” A voice called. My first thought was: can I not go anywhere without running into someone I know?

I reluctantly turned in the direction of the voice, but my face split into a grin when I saw Dr Huntley perched on a bar-stool only a foot away from me. I abandoned my attempts at getting a cosmo.

“You look fantastic, Charlotte!” he exclaimed. I laughed, uncomfortably fidgeting with my dress. It was hard to act modest, when I knew that I did, in fact, look pretty damn amazing; the dress fit me like a glove, it was so slinky, but classy as well. I felt like a movie star, or a princess.

“Dr Huntley! What are you doing here?” I asked, moving closer to him. He laughed good naturedly at my slightly rude question.

“Call me Max, Charlotte! I know, it’s a bit of a fancy shindig for me! Miguel specializes in children’s endocrinology, so he works quite closely with this charity,” he explained, smoothing a hand over his chest. He looked so sweet in his tux, with his usually fluffy black hair neatly brushed back; I could have just eaten him up.

“Oh, I know! It’s too fancy for me to be honest. Is Miguel a friend…?”

“He’s my fiancé,” Max replied, not missing a beat. The smile on my face was a tad frozen as I tried to process this information. ‘Of course he’s gay. He is sweet and intelligent and adorable. And getting married to a bloke called Miguel.’

“I didn’t know you were engaged, congratulations! Have you set a date for the wedding?” I enquired, hoping he wouldn’t consider it to be prying. Our relationship was complicated: he wasn’t a teacher, but he wasn’t exactly on my level either. We always joked and carried on at the hospital, but I was conscious not to get carried away and treat him like a friend.

“Well, we were waiting for them to pass the bill, we wanted a real marriage, not a civil partnership. We’re really in the thick of organizing now, and our date is next June, the fifth.” He was smiling like his pretty face was going to burst, it was so sweet to see someone so clearly smitten. I was curious to meet the elusive Miguel.

“That’s so exciting! Weddings are the best! I’m always planning my own in my head. That’s a bit weird, isn’t it?” I laughed, feeling a little embarrassed at my own admission. Max smiled warmly.

“It’s not weird at all! You’re just getting yourself prepared in advance,” he said, winking and patting my arm affectionately. I giggled, slightly fizzy from the champagne and lack of food.

“Honestly, Miguel and I have been fantasising about our dream wedding for so long, we could have planned it in a week, maximum. But trying to get a venue and photographer and caterer that all work together is-”

I inhaled sharply and jumped as a hand grasped the back of my neck, squeezing lightly. I spotted Tom in my peripheral vision, his eyes flicking between Max and I. Max’s sentence had trailed off to an uncomfortable silence. He watched Tom with slight apprehension.

“Charlotte, I wondered where you had disappeared to,” Tom remarked, his thumb pressing circles into my pulse-point. His voice was tense, wound tight like a spring. His business chat clearly hadn’t lasted too long.

“Oh, I was just talking to Dr Huntley- sorry, Max!” I said, laughing slightly in an attempt to ease the tension. Tom’s grip on my neck tightened infinitesimally, and I flinched. Max’s eyebrows wavered with concern. “This is Tom, my boyfriend.” They shook hands. I half expected Tom to try and crush the bones in Max’s hand, but mercifully, he desisted.

“And how do you two know each other?” Tom enquired, casually.

“Max is the doctor I’m shadowing for my hospital experience.”

“Charlotte is going to be an excellent doctor, she has a great capacity for compassion. The patients love her, they always ask when she’ll be popping in on ward rounds,” Max said jovially, though his smile was strained. I blushed at the compliment. It was the nicest thing anyone had ever said about me.

“Indeed, she has a big heart,” Tom remarked, his hand slid from my neck to cup my bare shoulder. “I’m afraid I’ll have to tear you away, there are some important people I want you to meet,” he said, pulling me against him. I knew he was lying.

“Of course, Tom,” I said sweetly, “It was nice to see you Max.”

“And you Charlotte,” he said, smiling. Tom nodded tersely and turned me, quickly guiding me through the crowd and up a flight of stairs.

“Where are we going, Tom?” I asked, hesitating as we entered a clearly private part of the mansion. The din of the party faded away to reveal the sharp taps of our shoes on the wooden floors. “I don’t know if we should be down here…”

Tom was barely listening to me, dragging me along behind him. He came to a set of heavy wooden doors and pushed one open, leading me into the most magnificent library I had ever seen. Everything was carved mahogany; there were antique-style ladders to allow you to reach the top most shelves, which must have been about twenty feet high, if not more. And there were books everywhere. I turned in circles, gawping at the décor as Tom shut the doors firmly behind him.

“What was that?” he snarled, turning to face me. I ceased my twirling and stared at him in shock- his face was etched with fury.

“What was what?” I asked defensively, frowning. Tom strode towards me and I stepped back hastily, accidentally cornering myself against a bookcase. He towered over me, his dark blue eyes flashing- not just with anger, I realised, but jealousy, too. I laughed faintly, about to explain the confusion, to reassure him that he needn’t worry, but his jaw clenched and he cut me off.

“Turn around,” he commanded, his voice gravelly. I hesitated, feeling panic flicker in my belly. I knew Tom would never really hurt me, but he still scared me when he was in one of his moods. “Turn. Around,” he ground out, jaw clenched. I slowly rotated to face the shelf, reluctant to take my eyes off him. I shivered when Tom’s long fingers wrapped around the ledge just above my head, gripping the mahogany tightly, until his knuckles turned white. I waited, listening to his deep, steady breaths and my own quick, shallow ones. Tom moved closer, caging me in more; I could almost feel his rising chest brushing against my exposed back.

“You look exquisite tonight, Charlotte,” he murmured against my neck, jostling a diamond earring. “Money well spent…” I flinched at his insinuation.

“You don’t own me Tom,” I said quietly, biting back indignant anger.

“No, but I do own this dress, and these diamonds…and I would very much like to see them on the floor now,” he growled, nipping at my earlobe.

“I’m serious, Tom. You don’t own me. I hope you know that.” My attempts at turning around to face him were fruitless. I glared at the leatherbound tomes in front of me instead. ‘Damn you ‘Hamlet’, and you too, ‘Coriolanus’’.

Tom gripped my shoulder, spinning me around.

“I won’t share you,” he said intensely, staring unflinchingly at me, “I hope that you know that,” he continued, stroking his hand down the side of my neck softly, his anger abating already.

“I’m not asking you to, Tom. We have our agreement- I’m sticking to it,” I remarked, unwilling to start an argument that I would inevitably lose. Tom considered me for a moment, before a feral smile appeared on his face.

“Good. Now, didn’t I say that I intended to ravish you in this dress?” he enquired huskily, dipping his finger under one of the silky straps and tugging it sideways. He leaned down to kiss the newly exposed skin.

“Tom! You can’t mean here! Someone could walk in at any moment!” I hissed, battling against him to pull my dress back into place.

“I thought you enjoyed the thrill of almost getting caught,” he said, cocking his eyebrow and smirking.

“I think twice in one week may be pushing our luck, Tom.” He wasn’t even listening. His nimble fingers deftly untied the bow at the top of my spine, loosening the bodice of my gown.

“Come now, Charlotte. You absolutely revelled in that little taste of exhibitionism in the theatre, admit it,” he teased. I clung to the fabric precariously covering my breasts, stubbornly staring at the man attempting to seduce me in the midst of a 500-person strong gala.

“Admit it,” he urged, kneading my ass and pulling my hips to grind against his. A traitorous moan escaped my lips. His other hand stayed poised at my neck, ready to resume undressing me.

I huffed, knowing that he wouldn’t relent until I did as he requested. “Fine, Tom. I enjoyed it,” I confessed reluctantly. He smiled triumphantly.

“As did I, my dear Charlotte. But this-” he waved around the empty library “-is, frankly, tame in comparison.” I frowned, certain I was about to be charmed and manipulated.

“What if someone walks in, Tom?”

“They won’t.”

“But what if they do?” I persisted, “We’re right in plain view!” It was true, the first thing a wayward reveller would see upon entering would be us fucking up against a bookcase filled with thousands of pounds worth of literature.

“That, love, is what keeps it exciting,” Tom whispered, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to my jumping pulse point. He had me, damn him. The absolute silver-tongue.

“Now, take it off,” he purred, stepping back slightly.

“Are you fucking insane? I am not going to strip off here! People could come in at any minute!”

“Five,” Tom drawled, in a bored tone. ‘Has he lost his marbles? What is “five”?’

“I- what?”

“Ten,” he continued, clasping his hands behind his back and staring at me.

“Tom, what the hell!” I exclaimed, feeling extremely flustered, though I wasn’t entirely sure why.

“Twenty…”

“Why are you shouting numbers at me?!”

“Twenty five…”

I calmed myself. “Tom, tell me why you are saying random numbers.”

“Thirty…” I huffed. ‘Deference, remember?’

“Tom will you please tell me-”

“Don’t mind me, Charlotte. I’m merely calculating how much you need to be punished,” he said silkily, an amused expression on his face. The ball finally dropped- as did my jaw.

“Thirty?! Are you serious?” I would not survive him spanking me thirty times, I just wouldn’t. Ten almost killed me.

“Forty…” I bit my lip, forcing myself to be quiet. My nails dug into my palms as I curled my hands into fists. Tom waited patiently, watching me, a signature smirk slowly unfolding.

“Good girl, you got there eventually. I have no intention of making you undress here; I only wanted to see if you would be obedient. Evidently, you are going to require more discipline,” he murmured, moving back to tower over me. I tried not to glare too strongly. ‘It was a test? Absolute fucker, that was so stressful!’

“Now…” he hummed, ghosting his lips over my neck, “Where were we?”

My breath hitched and I shut my eyes, waiting for him to make a move. His fingers found the slit in my dress, trailing from my knee up to the soft inner skin of my thigh. He nipped along my collarbone for a brief moment and then…nothing.

I opened my eyes to find him heading for the door. “Where are you going?” I demanded indignantly, releasing the silky dress from my desperate, grasping hands. Tom spun on his heel, facing me with an evil grin.

“Darling, I have to mingle,” he said, his eyebrows quirking in a challenge. I stared at him in disbelief; twice in one night that fucker had got me all hot and bothered, then left me high and dry.

“Seriously, Tom?”

He pretended to consider for a moment, then nodded. I huffed angrily.

“Aren’t you going to punish me, Tom? You could bend me over that table right there,” I said, trying to bait him, gesturing at a huge, sturdy-looking table in the middle of the room. His eyes narrowed for a moment, perhaps imagining me stomach down and ass up on the shining mahogany. He grinned even wider.

“I think I’ll save that pleasure for later, Charlotte. Delayed gratification, remember,” he purred, casting one last salacious glance at my heaving chest before he disappeared from the room.

I slumped against the book case, groaning with sexual frustration. No doubt about it-Tom was trying to kill me.


	10. Chapter 10

There I was, sitting in the swanky bathroom cubicle, in the equally swanky mansion, brooding over the fact that Tom had abandoned me in the library, when I overheard two cattish, posh voices bitching at the marble sinks. I rolled my eyes, snorting as they tore everyone at the gala to shreds. I was about to exit, and give them the most scathing look possible, when I heard something that made my ears prick up.

“Have you seen Tom?” asked the nasally voice.

“Yes, I wonder if Carina knows he’s here with a teenager. I’d love to see her face when she hears,” cackled her companion. My breath stuck in my throat. ‘Who the hell is Carina? His ex-girlfriend? Is she some sort of psycho who’ll try to knife me for stealing her man? Is this why he kept her a secret?’

 

“…no class, they only want a tight young body to enjoy, no matter how cheap or vapid the girl actually is. It’s a disgrace, I’m telling you…”

‘Wait a minute. Calm down. “Tom” is one of the most common names in the world, they could be talking about absolutely anyone.’ I smiled, convinced by my own argument, but I still made a point of waiting until the two bitches had left before slipping out. I checked myself in the mirror; miraculously, my gold and black eye shadow had stayed put, and my hair hadn’t deflated from its bouncy waves too much. ‘Lookin’ good, Green!’

I wandered back to the main room again, intent on finding Tom and dropping the name ‘Carina’ into conversation to see if he reacted. I did a double-take as I realised that the man on stage was Tom, microphone in hand. I paused at the top of the stairs to watch him; he looked so comfortable and natural standing in front of all those people, whereas I would have been a sweaty, nervous wreck. Another man introduced Tom as ‘the founder’, and handed over to him. I did another double-take. ‘Tom is the founder. Tom is the founder?!’

Tom didn’t speak for long, but he commanded the audience’s attention, all of their fine heads were turned towards him. They nodded and smiled as he ruminated on the work the charity does, what it has achieved, and what it hopes to achieve in the future. He was impassioned, yet affable. Completely charming. The room resounded with applause as he stepped off the stage, gesturing to the band to start up a new tune.

I hurried across the room, weaving in and out of the revellers. When I finally reached him, he was talking with two older gentlemen, whose backs were turned to me. I hesitated, unsure whether to interrupt his conversation. He noticed me, tilting his head slightly to communicate ‘come here’.

I walked over, gluing myself shyly to his side. His hand rested on my hip and he smiled down at me.

“Gentlemen, this is Charlotte Green. Charlotte, this is John Hamilton and Horace Whiteley-Thompson.”

Both men jovially exclaimed: ‘pleased to meet you!’, grasping my hands in theirs. Their faces were very flushed, and I could tell from the slightly unfocussed look in their eyes that they’d definitely been enjoying the free champagne.

“I’ll send Maura over to both of you later on. Thank you again for coming,” Tom said, giving each man a firm handshake, before guiding me the dance floor. The music was slow, not the rap/dance mash ups I was used to the rare time I ventured out to a club. Tom, sensing my uncertainty, placed my hand on his shoulder, grasping the other in his own and holding it up slightly. His other hand found my lower back, pressing my abdomen tightly against his. We swayed slowly, not trying any fancy footwork (a wise choice on his behalf- with the heels I was wearing, it was almost certain one of us would end up in A&E).

“You never said you were the founder,” I blurted out, looking up at him. He smiled slightly, navigating us around other couples. Cameras flashed and flickered as the photographers made their last rounds for the night.

“You never asked,” he replied, raising his eyebrow. I had to concede that he was, in fact, correct.

“Why children’s cancer?” I asked curiously. Obviously, I felt that it was a worthy cause, but I wondered if there was a reason behind his choice. Tom stared thoughtfully over my head for a few beats, before looking back down at me. I got the distinct feeling that he was remembering something.

“My sister, Emma, was diagnosed with leukaemia when she was six years old. She spent the next four years trying to fight it off,” he said quietly. His eyes looked sad, resigned. I had only ever heard him talk about his sisters once, but I couldn’t remember their names, or if he had even told me them. ‘Did Emma die? God, how can I ask?’

“And did she…was she okay?” I asked tentatively, moving my hand from his shoulder to briefly caress his cheek in what I hoped was a comforting gesture.

“Yes, she was, fortunately. But she suffered so much…she always says it robbed her of her childhood. She couldn’t go to school or play with us because she didn’t have any energy. Even as she got older, she had to go for frequent check-ups. The cancer left, but the fear didn’t.”

“So that’s why you founded this charity?”

“Yes. No child should suffer like that. It isn’t right,” he said his eyes sparking fiercely. His grip on my hand tightened, and I felt my body flood with strange warmth, affected by his compassion.

“What is it?” he asked sceptically, staring at me oddly. I realised that I was smiling dreamily up at him, so I shook my head, rearranging my features.

“Nothing, Tom. I really like this song,” I whispered, resting my head against his shoulder and swaying with my eyes closed.

**

We didn’t return to the hotel until the wee hours of the morning. The view across the twinkling city stole my breath all over again; I gravitated unthinkingly to the window. A silvery half-moon hung in the sky, alone in the blackness- the city lights always eclipsed the stars.

“You enjoy the view,” Tom murmured quietly, standing beside me and staring down at the dark river. He had seemed tired on the car journey back, perhaps from charming and mingling all night long. Still, the gala had been a success, and he was pleased with how much money they had raised.

“Yes, it’s incredible. You forget how pretty the city is when you’re at ground level.” I gasped quietly when Tom’s fingers began inscribing circles on my back. I glanced at him from the corner of my eye, but he was already watching me intently.

“I don’t think we should waste a view like this,” he whispered meaningfully. I didn’t understand until the bow on my dress slid free. ‘He wants the whole of London to be our audience.’ I hardly dared get my hopes up, considering I’d already been disappointed twice in one evening, but Tom wasn’t playing around anymore; he stepped behind me, cupping my silk covered breasts in his hands for a moment, kneading them steadily. I moaned softly, tilting my head back and leaning against him. He pushed the dress down to my waist, skimming his palms up over my ribs until he could graze and rub my tightening nipples. His breathing sped up infinitesimally; I felt it tickling my neck as he buried his face in my hair, inhaling deeply. I whined as he pinched and pulled the aching buds, my chest flushing red with blood and desire.

His hands whispered across my navel to my hips, and the silky fabric slithered down my legs, landing in a pile at my stiletto-clad feet. Naturally, I had forgone underwear, once again. Tom’s tongue traced a path up my neck to my ear.

“You were glorious tonight, Charlotte, no one could keep their eyes off you…” he rumbled, “…Do you have any idea how hard it makes me, seeing all of those poor men admiring you, not knowing that you’re all mine?” He thrust into my backside, to prove his point. One of his arms banded across my middle, and I tottered slightly in my towering heels, pulled even closer up against him. His other hand made a lazy passage to the apex of my thighs, stroking and pressing gingerly. I fidgeted, trying to get him to touch me properly; the blood was pounding to my centre, and the nerve endings were alight. I needed him to touch me.

“This is mine,” he murmured, cupping my mound in his palm. I whimpered, nodding frantically, anything to get him moving. He allowed a single finger to swipe through my wet folds. He laughed quietly, triumphantly.

“How long have you been wet for me?”

“All night…” I sighed, truthfully.

“Do you want me to fuck you, Charlotte?” He whispered, in an almost conspiratorial tone. His fingertip was resting just shy of my clit, and thought processes were struggling as a result.

“Y-yes, Tom -”

“How badly do you want me to fuck you? Hmm?” ‘Maybe he isn’t finished playing after all’.

“Ugh- So badly, Tom…” It was a poor attempt, and I knew it. His fingertip ascended, rubbing the swollen bead for the length of a heartbeat. His arm unwound from my middle, releasing me. I turned hesitantly, breathing heavily. Tom slipped out of his jacket, deftly untying his bow tie and unbuttoning his shirt. He stopped, half-naked.

“I want you to convince me, Charlotte. Convince me that you want me fuck you,” he commanded. His eyes were dark and half-lidded. I frantically wondered what I could do, to prove myself. My gaze flickered to the straining bulge showing through his trousers. I noticed his nostrils flare as I licked my lips, suddenly feeling more sure of myself.

“Yes, Tom,” I whispered, reaching down to pull off one of my shoes.

“No,” he said sharply. I blinked in surprise, putting it back on. “Those stay on. As do the diamonds,” he ordered, his voice noticeably deeper.

I locked my eyes with his, and, lowering myself to my knees on the plush carpet, I crawled the short distance between us. Tom’s eyes widened at first, then slid into a knowing smirk. I rose up carefully on my knees, taking time to lavish the trail beneath his navel with kisses. I went lower, following the line of the zipper, then moving my mouth across the imprint of his hard cock; I applied pressure with my lips, trying to knead him through the fabric. His breathing had grown noticeably louder and unstable. I took pity on both of us and withdrew, popping open the strained button and easing the zip all the way down. I kissed the warm, newly-exposed skin, nudging the open trousers out of my way so I could lick the defined dents of his hipbones. I slid my hand under the fabric, grasping his hot, thick cock. Losing patience, I pushed the trousers down completely, wanting to see him properly. I wouldn’t normally find penises particularly pleasant to look at (no matter how nice they may feel), but for some reason, one glimpse at Tom’s and I was like someone who had spent months in the desert, finally finding a tall glass of water – thirsty.

I glided my hand down to the base, noting the distinctive ridges and veins as I went. I swiped my tongue over those same veins and ridges as I moved up, swirling across the dripping head. All notion of teasing went out the window. I carefully dipped down, taking the first inch or so inside my mouth, already having to confront the unavoidable fact that Tom had a much wider girth than I was accustomed to- not to mention that I was a tad rusty on the blowjob front. But I was determined to please him, so I persevered, sucking back to the tip, then slackening my jaw and taking in far more the next time.

Tom groaned loudly, twisting his fingers into my hair tightly, but not interfering with the movement of my head, as I moved languidly up and down, taking more every time. I squeezed the neglected base with one hand, caressing his balls with the other in a careful rhythm.

“Yes…good girl. Ugh…take all of me,” he growled, his hips jerking instinctually. Immediately, I felt my gag reflex make itself known, but I had little room for manoeuvre, so I continued, intent on making my lips reach the top of my own fist- I knew that I had no chance of taking all of him in, at least not without more practice.

Tom was groaning louder than ever, beginning to tug at my roots as he swore filthily. I felt myself getting wetter with every erotic sound he made, and I wished that I had a hand free to relieve a bit of my own tension. But I had to focus, I was almost at my goal…almost, so very near…but then, I reached my limit. My gag reflex kicked in at the most inopportune moment.

Tom pulled gently, but firmly at my hair when I didn’t stop trying to take him deeper.

“That’s enough, pet,” he said softly. I released him with an audible pop, my cheeks already flaring with hot embarrassment as I coughed loudly, desperate for air. I had wanted so badly to please him, but I just couldn’t do it. I stared down at the floor, rapidly blinking back prickly little tears.

“I’m sorry, Tom,” I whispered, sniffing lightly. ‘I’m so shit at all of this, and he’s a bona fide sex god. Just for once, I wanted to be the one to drive him mad!’

“Charlotte,” he murmured, cupping my cheek and tilting my face back up at him. I stubbornly kept my eyes downwards, worried that I would see disappointment in his expression.

“Charlotte, look at me.” I reluctantly rolled my eyes up to his. Desire still simmered in them, but it mingled with concern. “What are you sorry for?” he asked, swiping a tear away with his thumb.

“I’m sorry I c-couldn’t take all of you. I’m sorry I couldn’t please you-”

“Who said that?” he demanded, frowning slightly. I pouted; obviously, no one had said, but I still knew it.

“I just…I’m out of practice-”

“Charlotte, I asked you a question. Who said you didn’t please me, hmm? It certainly wasn’t me,” he said, gripping my chin tightly, as if he could force an answer from me.

“No one, Tom…”

“Then why did you assume that you didn’t please me? Was I not vocal enough for you?” I blushed, remembering the passionate sounds he had made.

“No, you were, but -”

“Charlotte, you did satisfy me. Very much,” he said, fiercely and sincerely. I smiled grudgingly.

“And you have certainly persuaded me,” he whispered, baring his teeth in a wicked grin, eyes glinting. My stomach clenched and fluttered, arousal overtaking all other emotions in an instant.

“Come, up,” Tom instructed, reaching down to help me stand. He kicked his shoes and trousers off, and then spun me around, marching me forwards until I was pressed against the cold glass. ‘Oh God, he’s going to fuck me right here…just as well I kept the heels on.’

Tom took my hands in his, stretching my palms up to grip the panel just above my head. The jewelled bracelet slinked down past my wrist, glittering in the dim light.

“Do not move your hands from there, understood?” he said lowly, pressing his own palms across the length of my exposed, jittery body.

“Yes, Tom,” I breathed, fogging a small white circle onto the window pane. The lights of the city blazed and shimmered as Tom pressed two fingers, one crossed over the other, into my wet opening. I gripped the panel tightly, moaning and rolling my hips back desperately as he pumped in and out at a measured pace.

“Mmmm always so eager for my touch, Charlotte.”

My body jolted as his slick fingers re-emerged, dancing across my clit. I made a keening sound, pressing my forehead against the cool glass. Tom shifted my hips back, tilting my upper body down slightly in the process. A tear of foil pricked my ears, and I strained hard to hold onto the panel, my arms stretched with tension. The head of his cock slid between my ass cheeks, before burrowing into my slippery folds, moving up and down a few times, and then finally seeking out my opening, pressing in slowly until he had filled me to the hilt. I huffed in relief at the feeling, smiling dazedly as I heard him moan contentedly behind me. He drew out almost completely, and slammed back into me, his hips snapping against my ass. My head drooped as I was overwhelmed with sensations; Tom’s hand immediately found its way into my hair, yanking a fistful back powerfully and forcing my spine to arch into a new position that let him hit even more pleasure points than before.

My earrings clinked and chimed as he ploughed into me, my head and hands fixed in place even as my hips attempted to match his rapid rhythm. My eyes rolled upwards freely, and moans and whimpers poured from my lips uninhibited.

I hazily remembered the view, but I was really only interested in the man fucking me senseless. I could see his reflection in the window, breaking and shimmering as faint clouds drifted over our only light source. The taut lines of his arms and shoulders, the arch of his neck, the snarling set of his teeth as he ploughed into me with almost inhuman speed and power. The distinctive sensations of oncoming orgasm were beginning to grip my lower half, increasing steadily with every thrust of Tom’s hips.

“T-tom, please…” I gasped, screwing my face up as I tried to hold my release at bay.

“Please what, Charlotte?” Tom taunted, his voice raspy, but not nearly as breathless as my own.

“Please…let me c-cum…”

“Hmm…I don’t know if you deserve it. Have you been my good girl?” he teased, pulling my head back further, almost bending me double until I could feel his breath just above my shoulder blades. ‘Thank goodness I did gymnastics for so many years, or I would have snapped in half!’

“Ugh, y-yes Tom. Please-” My words twisted into a strangled shriek as he began rubbing zigzags and circles onto my throbbing clit. He chuckled appreciatively.

“Not too loud, love. We don’t want to wake the entire hotel.”

“C-can I, Tom?” I pleaded, desperately. Tom didn’t answer immediately, instead snapping his hips even harder than before. I felt him twitch inside me, and I realised, with relief, that he was close too.

“Yes, now,” he hissed, at long last. I cried out his name, and my mind went blank, bathing in bliss as my walls clamped down, milking Tom’s cock and triggering his own release. He growled loudly, sinking his teeth into my shoulder, inadvertently provoking my second orgasm.

When I finally came down (the second time), I was gasping for breath, my forehead still pressed against the steamy window. Tom gently pulled my hands down from their perch, massaging blood back into them; I had forgotten that they were even up there, in all the excitement. He hugged me against his sweaty chest, resting his chin in the crook of my neck, breathing as heavily as I was.

I grinned out at the city, our oblivious audience.

Thank you London, good night!


	11. Chapter 11

“Charlotte…what time is it?” Tom asked groggily.

“Uh, it was half ten when I last checked,” I supplied, trying not to get side-tracked now that he had awoken.

“Half ten? God, I haven’t slept in this late in years. I haven’t been on a run…” He sounded absolutely astounded by his own ‘laziness’; I couldn’t help but laugh. ‘Does he ever give himself a break?’

 “Charlotte, what are you doing?” Tom enquired, his voice gravelly with sleep.

“Hiding evidence,” I replied, as if it was obvious. I had arisen early, in need of a pee (and in dire need of removing my completely ruined makeup), but while staring at my dishevelled self in the bathroom, I had experienced a flashback from the previous evening that had me sprinting to pull back the curtains and survey the damage. I had spent the past twenty or so minutes hastily wiping at the sweat marks, handprints and makeup smears on the window. Tom laughed throatily.

“Darling, just leave it.”

“Tom, I don’t want the maids to see!” I exclaimed hotly, glancing back at him. He was propped up on his elbow, the sheets draped artfully around his waist. ‘Yum. No, focus! Window!’

“They’ve seen worse,” he assured me. I frowned, turning back to face him.

“The way you say that makes me suspect you’ve done worse.” He smirked, licking his lips.

“I have. Come back to bed, and I’ll show you,” he enticed, huskily. I sighed, knowing when a battle was lost. The window looked slightly improved, but not much. I tossed the tissues in the bin and walked over to Tom, about to crawl into bed.

He stopped me, holding a hand up as he pulled himself into a sitting position.

“No clothes allowed on in bed. Hotel policy,” he murmured cheekily, untying my bathrobe before I had a chance to stop him. I giggled as he pushed it carelessly off my shoulders. The morning chill pricked my skin into points all over.

“Oh? I didn’t realise we were staying in a nudist-” I yelped as Tom pulled me down onto the bed, rolling over to pin me underneath him in one slick move. ‘Hello morning wood.’

“Now, where were we?” he hummed, grazing his nose along the column of my throat. My mind was already foggy, and we had barely even started.

“You were going to… show me ‘worse’, Tom,” I reminded him, moaning quietly as he kissed the tender skin beneath my jaw. His lips trailed up and over my chin, moulding against my own seeking mouth. He pushed deeper, coaxing my lips open, invading my mouth with his tongue and claiming every spot inside. His fingers traced along the sensitive insides of my arms, making me squirm with a strange combination of ticklishness and arousal. His hands migrated to my hips next, gripping the plump flesh hard enough to leave bruises as he began slowly grinding against my thigh.

He separated our bodily alignment- lips, hands, hips- and effortlessly rolled me onto my front. The sheets were extremely soft and warm beneath me; if it wasn’t for the fact that Tom was hell bent on seducing me, I probably would’ve drifted back to sleep. I hadn’t recovered from the previous night’s Olympic effort. I turned my face to the side, but I could only vaguely see him in my peripheral.

Tom shifted away momentarily, spreading my legs apart on his return, creating enough space to kneel between them.

“Up on your knees,” he commanded, helping me manoeuvre into position. I had placed my hands up by my shoulders for balance, but Tom seized each one in turn, placing them together, palms facing outward, at the small of my back. A strip of satin-y fabric slipped across them, binding them tightly together. I wriggled my hips, shifting my lower body to try and accommodate the awkward shape he had contorted me into.

“Comfortable?” he asked, tickling the insides of my wrists.

“Yes, Tom.” I gasped shakily as he gripped my arse, indenting the flesh with his strong fingers. I felt extremely exposed and vulnerable, lying there ass-up in front of him. The worst part of all was that he wasn’t doing anything, simply staring at my exhibited core that seemed to get wetter as the uneasy moments ticked by.

“Ah-ah-ah, no,” Tom intoned, prying my legs apart after I attempted to partially close them. “I hope you’re not going to misbehave now, Charlotte,” he added sternly, gifting me with a light swat on my backside.

“No, Tom,” I mumbled, pressing my face into the mattress. My mouth unhinged and my spine coiled as he graciously slid a pair of his lovely long digits through my folds. They slipped up and down rhythmically, and my hips naturally attempted to match their tempo. My cries and whimpers were absorbed by the bedding, until Tom pulled my head up via a handful of hair.

“I want to hear the sounds you make when I’m fucking you,” he whispered darkly, thrusting his fingers into me on the f-word. I obliged, moaning loudly as he pumped in and out, curling the tips every other thrust, teasing my g-spot mercilessly. My hands fidgeted uselessly, able only to twist into fists in response to his movements.

“I want you to come around my fingers first, Charlotte. And then, I’ll allow you to come around my cock. Now isn’t that generous of me?” he purred, adding a third thrusting finger.

“Y-yes, Tom. Th-thank you,” I choked out, squeezing my eyes and my jaw shut as the delicious feeling of oncoming orgasm overtook my senses.

Tom’s free hand stroked across my back, rolling under to trace the soft skin of my belly, moving down until it reached my clit. I had anticipated more teasing, more building of torturous anticipation, but his fingertips rubbed swiftly against the little bud, mirroring the ministration of his other fingers inside me. I came in a matter of seconds, my eyes rolling in my head and my nails digging into my palms as I repeatedly moaned his name, like a mantra.

“Beautiful…” Tom murmured, slowly withdrawing his digits after my walls ceased constricting. I shied away when he stroked his fingers over my soaking folds, too sensitive to be touched right away.

“…and delicious,” he hummed, audibly sucking his fingers. I flushed at his words, but I was delighted, and rather hopeful that Tom would feel inclined to spend some time with his head between my legs very soon.

He grasped my hips, gently manoeuvring me until I was at the very edge of the bed. The mattress relaxed as he climbed off, standing behind me. I flinched ever so slightly as the hot head of his cock slid into my folds, but he waited, patient and unmoving, until I had recovered enough for the desperate need to be filled to return.

“Tom…”I whined, unable to bear the suspense any longer.

“As promised,” he growled, thrusting into me in one smooth motion. He placed his hand over my bound ones, using it as an anchor to steady himself as he bucked with deep, long strokes. My eyes were rolling in my head within seconds- fast fucks I could handle, the slow ones were a torment, even after I’d already orgasmed.

He swirled his hips in torturous circles, touching every part of me, and then pulled out almost completely before slamming back into me with force. He would build a rhythm, stick to it just long enough for me to feel another orgasm building, then, judging by my escalating moans and cries, he would change tempo entirely, thwarting my rising pleasure until I was squirming and begging for mercy.

At one point, I managed to crane my neck enough to chance a glance at him; his eyes were closed and his head was thrown back in bliss, his jaw hanging loosely as grunts and groans erupted from his lips. The muscles of his chest and shoulders were pulled tight; a network of thick veins had risen to the surface…

“Room service!” called a voice, far too close for comfort. It was followed by several brisk raps; my head flew up, and I stared towards the door, in horror. ‘Dear god, do not come in. DO NOT COME IN!”

Tom was, typically, rather unfazed by the whole thing- he didn’t stop for even a second.

“Not now! Come back later!” he shouted calmly, his voice not giving away the fact that he was mid-fuck in the slightest.

“Oh my god, oh my god!” I whimpered, half with disbelief and half with arousal. ‘If she’ had walked in here, I would’ve died. Actually died, completely dead.’

“Charlotte, don’t come until I tell you,” Tom gritted out, misinterpreting my invocations.

“Y-yes, Tom.” Easier said than done- I was pretty damn close; the near-miss with the maid had perversely amped up my arousal, and I was beginning to doubt my ability to do as instructed.

Tom unexpectedly pulled out, just as I felt the hot fizz of orgasm gaining some momentum. I cried out unhappily, but he simply chuckled throatily, turning me over once again and grasping my ankles in his hands, placed them up on his shoulders. My clasped hands were digging into my back, but I barely noticed once Tom had slipped back inside me, resuming his punishing rhythm. I threw my head back, feeling the intense pleasure reignite immediately- I was a goner.

“Charlotte, look at me,” Tom commanded, his voice finally revealing his own strain. I forced myself to comply, looking up at him; his searing gaze was fixed down at the point where our bodies were repeatedly meeting and receding with slick, indecent sounds. For some reason, that turned me on even more; the dirtiness of the entire venture was simultaneously horrifying and delicious. It was a magnificent view of him; his big hands holding my legs up on his broad shoulders, the fine definition of his obliques shining with a lacquer of sweat, his slim hips tensed and thrusting-

“Tom, please!” I begged, pathetically. Frankly, I didn’t care about dignity, I just wanted to come (again).

Tom tore his gaze away from our meeting point, his eyes heavy and dark as they met mine.

“Keep your eyes on me, Charlotte,” he instructed, kissing one of my ankles and then releasing it, he mercifully pressed the heel of his palm onto my clit, grinding down on it hard. I bit my lip, whining desperately, still unsure whether I was allowed to come or not. I looked to Tom for instruction, my lust-soaked mind past its speech capabilities.

Tom’s jaw clenched, and the vein in his temple jumped as he said “Yes.”

In about two seconds flat, I came so hard I thought I had actually succeeded in pulling both of my shoulders. The strain of not being able to stretch, between my hands and feet being held tightly, and Tom’s command to ‘keep my eyes on him’, meant that my orgasm felt constricted, but no less enjoyable. My eyelids flickered as I dutifully refused to shut them, and I was rewarded with the pleasure of seeing Tom at the exact moment his own orgasm caught him; jerking all of his muscles and knocking the air from his lungs with a deep, low moan as he collapsed forward, spent. He placed his hands on either side of my head, careful not to rest his body weight on me entirely.

We both lay gasping for breath, the room suddenly feeling unbearably warm and stuffy. I noticed that Tom had little beads of sweat clinging to his hairline as he leant down, tenderly kissing my own sweaty forehead before planting a soft, toe-curling kiss on my lips.

“I suppose I’d better untie you,” he remarked regretfully, but grinning mischievously. He carefully helped me sit up, tugging the fabric free from my wrists. I laughed out loud when I saw what it was.

“I never realised bow ties were so versatile,” I said. He laughed, placing it on the dresser.

“What can I say? It takes a certain…imagination to think of these things,” he replied with a wink, stretching himself out as if he was reaching for the ceiling. “Mmm what a way to start a Sunday morning,” he mused, rolling his shoulders. I remained prone on the bed, watching his impromptu yoga session raptly.

“We could make it even better,” I suggested, shyly. Tom raised his eyebrows, beckoning for me to continue my train of thought.

“Well, we could go for a swim in the pool-” He nodded in agreement “- and then, maybe we could…have a bath. Together? It has a really nice view,” I explained, suddenly feeling a little embarrassed by my fantasy. Tom grinned, licking his lips.

“You’re right, that sounds fantastic. But, aren’t you hungry?”

“Oh, yeah. Starving, actually,” I said, only just realising how empty my belly was.

“I’ll call room service and see if they can bring us breakfast- after our skinny dip, of course,” he said, smirking slightly as he picked up the phone.

“Okay, I’ll start filling up the bath,” I said, forcing my jelly-limbs into some semblance of order and sloping into the pretty bathroom. I turned on the taps, but only a little, so the bath wouldn’t overflow, and dumped in a small bottle of complimentary ‘vervain’ bubble bath. The city was blazing outside, the sun colliding and bouncing off thousands of office windows. ‘I could so get used a view like this,’ I mused, dandering back into the main room.

“Ready for a swim?” Tom enquired with a quirk of his brow, leading the way onto our private veranda. I was suddenly very aware of my nudity (admittedly, at 48 floors it was unlikely anyone would see anything, but still), and slid into the pool quickly, surprised to find it a comfortable temperature. Tom took his time, drifting down the steps slowly; when he reached the bottom, he dived under, swimming to the far end. The pool was actually bigger than I had realised when I first saw it- you could actually have gotten a good morning’s exercise (if we hadn’t already had ours).

Tom resurfaced, slicking his drenched dark hair back from his face. His hair, although short, always had a distinct wave to it at the top, but when it was pushed back so severely from his face, it gave his already sharp features an even starker profile- I thought he looked a little…villainous, dangerous even.

I managed to detach my admiring eyes, and floated over to the ‘infinity’ edge, where the water seemed to pour into oblivion. I leaned over a little, trying to glimpse what was below the drop, but I couldn’t see anything. I yelped when Tom appeared behind me, wrapping his arms around me and resting his chin on my head. I waited for a scolding, but it didn’t come. We simply stood (in my case, hovered) and stared out at the view together, neither us of feeling the need to say anything at all.

*

We nipped into the huge shower for a few minutes before room service arrived, washing the chlorine off ourselves in time to greet the waiters in our complementary robes.

As I had noted the day before, the bath was too small for us to sit apart, and I couldn’t help but grin when Tom archly pointed out that –alas- I would simply have to sit in his lap for it to work. We positioned our feast on a small table within arm’s reach of the tub, and picked at the scones and pastries, knocking back the much needed caffeine while the warm scented bathwater soothed our tired limbs. On the surface, I was totally relaxed and sated, listening to the cadence of Tom’s voice as he talked about the gala, but secretly, I was giddy with joy that I was enjoying breakfast in a bathtub, with a hot man, overlooking the Thames. ‘Life is so good…oh yes, I could get used to this.’

“Charlotte?”

“Yes? Sorry Tom. I spaced for a bit,” I confessed guiltily, feeling very rude. Tom simply chuckled and repeated his question.

“You’re going home. Where is ‘home’, exactly?”

“Chard, in Somerset. It’s a tiny little town, but it’s so pretty and sort of in the country, so Nana can get about easily but still be left in peace if she wants…”

“You live with your grandmother?” Tom asked, and I flushed with guilt, realising that I had barely told him a thing about my family life.

“Yes, it’s just Nana and me…my grandpa passed away last year. Cancer,” I said, my throat instantly tightening with emotion. Talking about that sort of stuff was hard for me, but Tom had been open about his family, and I wanted to repay him, in a way.

Tom nuzzled against my neck, peppering soft kisses along my pulse; he twined his fingers through mine, resting our clasped hands on my belly under the water. He didn’t say anything for a bit, giving me time to collect myself. I appreciated it; when people became overly sympathetic or overly poetic in their attempts to convey sympathy, it only made me even more upset, ungrateful as that may sound. Tom seemed to understand perfectly, though.

“I’m sure you’ll enjoy being free of the City for a while. What do you do to amuse yourselves in Chard?” he asked, his tongue rolling over the unfamiliar word. I giggled, feeling cheered.

“Not much. Go for walks, read, watch TV, feed the chickens-”

“Chickens? You have chickens?”

“Yeah, what’s weird about that?” I said defensively.

“I just never knew you were such a country bumpkin,” he teased, pinching my sides until I squealed, thrashing enough to send some water flying over the edge of the tub.

“How d-dare you! I am not a country b-bumpkin!” I spluttered indignantly.

“Whatever you say, Charlotte of Chard.”

“You’re from Oxfordshire! You’re not a born city slicker either!”

“Actually, I was born right here. In Westminster.”

“Wow, really? That’s so cool,” I said brightly, realising with a swoop of sadness that I actually wasn’t sure where I was born. I frowned, casting about for a new thread of conversation.

“I have something to tell you,” I announced, playing with a handful of bubbles. Tom shifted behind me.

“What is it?” He sounded alarmed.

“It’s nothing serious, it’s actually a little funny. It’s about Max, you remember-” Tom grunted with displeasure, tightening his grasp around my middle.

“Tom, Max is gay.” Silence.

“What?” he asked, incredulous. I rested my head back on his shoulder.

“Yeah, he’s engaged. To a guy called Miguel, a doctor who works with your charity.”

“Miguel dos Santos?”

“Maybe, I didn’t get a surname.”

Another grunt.

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” It was my turn to snort.

“I tried to! But then I got a little distracted when you put your hand up my dress,” I reminded him, a little tartly. “Isn’t it funny? You thought he was hitting on me!” I added, giggling.

“I’m sorry for jumping to the wrong conclusions,” he said quietly. I was shocked that he had apologised- and acknowledged that he was wrong.

“That’s okay, Tom.”

“You seemed very comfortable with him,” he remarked softly, after several minutes of silence. There was no accusation in his tone, only a faint hint of curiousity.

“Yeah, I like him. He’s very sweet and funny. And good with the patients.”

“As are you, apparently.” Tom’s hand stroked across my ribs.

“Oh,” I hummed, blushing slightly, “he was just being polite-”

“Why do you never allow anyone to compliment you, Charlotte? You are beautiful and smart and kind. No arguments,” he said, kissing my temple. My belly warmed with vague embarrassment and joy.

“Thank you, Tom,” I acquiesced, a little reluctantly.

“Good girl.”

**

After our luxurious bath brunch, we dressed and readied ourselves to meet the public (I agonized over what to wear, blow dried my hair and applied my make up with care…Tom just got dressed and let his hair dry on its own- and he still looked unfairly hot despite his lack of effort).

We enjoyed an incredibly fancy, art nouveau dinner at the hotel’s Michelin-star restaurant, but by the time dessert rolled around, I was ready for bed. It had been a long weekend, full of excitement, glamour, and a hell of a lot of sex.

We arrived back at Tom’s house just after nine o’clock, and mercifully, he was as exhausted as me. I drifted off to sleep within seconds of resting my head on Tom’s chest, all worries about the coming days together pushed to the back of my sleep-deprived mind.


	12. Chapter 12

Monday was a strange sort of day. I woke up in Tom’s arms, in Tom’s bed, in Tom’s house. When he left early for the office, I dragged myself into the shower and then had breakfast, a bowl of Weetabix, standing barefoot in his kitchen. I didn’t like being in the house alone, so I dressed and walked at a leisurely pace to the hospital, stopping to admire the Houses of Parliament rearing up in the slightly misty morning. The feeling of normality emerged during placement, as I paced around the halls of Guy’s and St Thomas, tending to the myriad of patients, shadowing Max on walkabouts and in labs and morgues.

Max cornered me when the clock struck four, when I should have been heading home. The weirdness crept back into my day. I was confused by what he was saying, his words, stilted with anxiety and restraint, floating to me on hesitant little waves. He fidgeted with pages and paperweights on his desk, rifling a hand through his floppy dark hair repeatedly.

“I agonized for two days over whether I should say anything at all…what I saw on Saturday… you don’t deserve to be taken advantage of… warning signs…maybe speak to a councillor?”

“Max, I’m sorry but…what on Earth are you talking about?” I blurted out, my impatience getting the better of me. My mind, sluggish from four o’clock fatigue, attempted to sort through the mush of what he had said. ‘Saturday…what he saw on Saturday. What did he see? Me. And Tom. Tom being well, Tom. It must have looked really bad. Aggressive, possessive. His hand on the back of my neck. I had flinched; he startled me. But Tom wouldn’t hurt me, not really. He’s been so sweet lately, so kind; more than I ever thought he could be. Am I being taken advantage of? Our deal is fair isn’t it? We each get what we need. No one else would understand. Poor Max, poor lovely Max, worrying about me. But I have to stop him, I have to defend Tom. He isn’t a monster.”

Max’s lips were still moving.

“…should know the whole story-”

“Max,” I said abruptly, interrupting his diatribe. I chose my words with care. “I appreciate your…uh, concern, but there really is nothing to worry about. I know it may seem strange, but it’s a hard thing to explain. I’m not in any danger. Tom is…full-on, but he’s very caring and completely trustworthy. I’m safe with him.”

Max didn’t believe me, it was written all over his face. Nonetheless, he nodded, accepting defeat. I felt awkward, unsure of what to say. He wouldn’t be convinced, no matter what I said. And I certainly couldn’t tell him the truth. I stood, lifting my bag.

“I don’t know what to say,” I confessed, adjusting the zips on my jacket. “Just, thanks for caring…but really, there’s nothing to worry about,” I added, smiling reassuringly. He nodded again. I headed to the door.

“Bye, Max.”

“Yes, goodbye. Have a nice Easter.”

“Oh, you too!” I replied, stepping out into the stark corridor.

“Charlotte!” he called suddenly, just before I closed the door. I looked back at his earnest face. “Remember what I said, won’t you?” I nodded vaguely, shutting the door firmly behind me. A phantom chill lifted the little hairs at the back of my neck.

I suddenly wished that Max had never been at that damn gala.

*

I didn’t mention Max-gate to Tom; I was still reeling from it and the alienness of my day as I prepared our dinner in his state-of-the-art kitchen. Tom arrived home at seven o’clock, just as I was setting the table. The paella bubbled happily in the pot, almost ready to be served.

“I could get used to this,” Tom murmured, pressing himself up against me, bumping my hips against the table edge with his own. His lips tickled my neck until I wriggled away from him, giggling and warning him that feeling up the kitchen-waiting staff was not permitted. He groaned resignedly, shucking off his suit jacket and settling himself at the table as I dished up, his wandering hands groping my arse as I did so.

We talked about our days around mouthfuls of prawn, chorizo and rice. I carefully constructed the replay of my day, painting everything in rosy colours of normality. I felt less strange now that Tom was with me. I really hated being in his house alone, something about it filled me with prickly unease.

Throughout dinner, I noticed that Tom kept surreptitiously rolling his right shoulder and wincing slightly.

“I must have slept on it strangely last night,” he explained, creaking it once more. I left my empty plate and moved behind him, pressing and probing his shoulders through his shirt. His breathing hitched when I discovered a tight bundle of tension between his neck and shoulder.

“I can work it out, if you want me to,” I offered.

“Really?” He sounded a little sceptical. I smothered a smile.

“Yes, I took an elective in physio last semester.”

“Very well. I put myself in your capable hands.”

I cleared away our plates, adding them and the dirty pots to the dishwasher. Tom had collapsed on the sofa by the time I joined him in the drawing room.

“It’ll work better without the shirt,” I pointed out, smiling. He chuckled, deftly removing his cufflinks and tie, relieving his upper body of all clothing.

“So eager to get me undressed, Charlotte…” he teased, turning to lean back against the arm of the sofa. I stood behind him, smoothing my hands over warm slopes of his broad shoulders.

“You caught me,” I giggled, testing the knot with gentle presses.

“I think, in the interest of fairness, that you should also divest your upper half of clothing,” he mused, “And the lower half, while you’re at it.” I rolled my eyes; even tense with discomfort he was a suave charmer.

“I’m sorry Mr Hiddleston, no strenuous activity allowed until I get rid of this tension”, I said crisply, in my best ‘professional’ voice.

“Then you had better hurry. With your hands touching me like that, you’ll be contending with an entirely different type of tension soon,” he purred, moaning lowly as my fingers rubbed harder, rhythmically coaxing his muscles to relax. I bit my lip as he moaned again, rubbing my thighs together discreetly. ‘Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea…’ It was absurd that, without touching me or even looking at me, Tom was capable of getting me fired up in an instant. I tamped down my hormones and pressed harder, massaging the spot until I felt the tense knot completely unravel. Tom tested his shoulder, sighing with relief as I grinned proudly.

“Well, how did I do?”

“Wonderful, you get a gold star,” he teased, grasping my hand and leading me around to sit in his lap.

“Ooh what does a gold star get me?” I enquired, only half-joking.

“Anything you want. Choose wisely,” he murmured softly, sliding his warm hands beneath the hem of my jumper. I pretended to consider this generous offer.

“Hmmm can I get back to you? I want to pick something good.”

“Very sensible,” Tom said sagely. “Thank you, for fixing my shoulder. It was hurting all day,” he added sweetly, smiling down at me. It was a genuine smile, lighting up his eyes and etching little lines beside them, carving out dimples in his chiselled cheeks. I was seeing that type of smile more and more often. Whenever he did it, I felt a wild urge to wrap my arms around his neck and bury my face in his hair, inhaling his scent. I am an affectionate, touchy-feely person by nature, but with Tom, I had always felt the need to hold back, in case he found me to be too cloying. I settled for tentatively touching his cheek instead; he caught my wrist, pulling my palm to his lips.

“You’re welcome, Tom.” He released my wrist, pulling me up to rest against him. I pressed my ear to his chest, listening to the strong, steady thud of his heart.

“Charlotte, I want to discuss something that I know will make you uncomfortable,” he proclaimed, softly. His fingers had snuck their way into my hair, lightly gripping small strands. ‘Oh God, it’s The List, isn’t it?’ My face flared with heat at the mere thought.

“Okay, Tom,” I squeaked.

“And I would like for you to look at me, when we discuss it,” he added, his large palm sweeping reassuringly from my scalp to the middle of my spine. ‘Right, pull it together. He’s being considerate, and you should be too’.

I pushed myself up, disentangling myself from him to sit farther away. Tom also sat up straighter, reaching for my hand and holding it in his own.

“It’s about the list, from last week. I know that you prefer not to talk about these things, but we really must,” he explained, staring at me plaintively. I nodded, fighting my instincts to look anywhere but at him.

“First of all, I appreciate that you read and marked it. I understand that it may have been…daunting for you.” His thumb massaged the back of my hand. He looked at me expectantly.

“Oh! Uh yeah, it was a bit daunting, Tom…but I think it was a good idea,” I said, blushing as I recalled all of the things that had appeared on the thick, expensive paper in Tom’s elegant cursive. The skin around Tom’s eyes crinkled again.

“I’m glad we are agreed on that point. Were there any things you wanted to ask me about, or anything that you may wish to change your response to, now?” he enquired, his expression open and sincere. I bit my lip, trying to remember everything that had been on the list. I had understood everything alright, I just wasn’t sure how I would react to them- it would have to go by trial and error.

“No, Tom. I think I’m happy with everything…for now.” Tom nodded, content.

“Good. Now that I know your hard and soft limits, we can begin to explore more,” he said, his voice dipping noticeably lower. I felt a tingle radiate from my middle, a subtle shiver slipping up my spine. ‘Does he mean tonight? I hadn’t expected that we’d do anything tonight.’

“Tonight?”

“No, Charlotte. We’ll wait until tomorrow. You know by now that I subscribe to the merits of delayed gratification,” he replied, slyly.

"So, are you ready to play for real?" he inquired, his voice full of promise.

“What did you have in mind, Tom?” I asked cautiously, not entirely sure that I wanted to know the answer. Tom smiled, lips curled with faint wickedness as he raised my hand to his lips again.

“That-would-spoil-the-surprise,” he purred, kissing a fingertip with every word.

**

On Tuesday, I was barraged by an onslaught of sexts from Tom. His previous rule of never, ever texting apparently did not extend to texts of a dirty variety. Honestly, as if four hour labs aren’t torturous enough, he thinks it’s a good idea to get me all wound up and horny?

My phone buzzed softly, but I studiously ignored it: phones in the lab are a big no-no. I rolled my eyes skywards when it buzzed again, minutes later, but again, I didn’t dare check it. I crouched down, measuring out the clear liquid precisely, ensuring that the meniscus hit exactly where it should; I had done (and nearly failed) enough labs to know that precision and focus were key. I swore under my breath when my phone buzzed once more, making my hand wobble and add another ten centilitres. ‘And the patient would be dead. Because of a text.’

I excused myself for a bathroom break, earning a very disapproving look from the supervisor. It’s an absurd rule: realistically who isn’t going to need to pee (or eat) within four hours?

I locked myself in a cubicle and whipped out my phone, groaning quietly as I read their contents.

\- 13:01 I can barely focus on my work, I’m too busy imagining fucking you from behind.

\- 13:03 Or maybe, from the front. I do so love to see your expression when I make you come. Over and over.

\- 13:07 There are so many surfaces in my office we could ‘christen’. I’ll have to lure you down here someday soon and give you a special tour. There are floor-to-ceiling windows- I know you enjoy an audience.

\- 13:11 Tom, seriously! I’m in a lab right now!x

\- 13:13 Too bad. If you were at home, you could send me some dirty pictures.

\- 13:14 Perhaps even a video. Now there’s an idea…

I huffed at that one. Not that I liked to admit it, but the thought of a video of us getting down and dirty was both exhilarating and terrifying- I knew the deal with all those sex tapes being leaked, though they were obviously of famous people. Still, probably not a particularly wise idea.

I sighed, knowing that I was really stretching my luck by extending my ‘bathroom break’.

\- 13:16 Sounds more like a dream to me. I’ll see you later, okay? I’ll be back around 4 x

No response. ‘How rude! Did he expect me to whip my knickers off and send him a picture then and there? Oh, probably!’

My phone buzzed again, just as I was finishing up my work. I checked it surreptitiously, while the supervisor organized her things.

\- 14:56 When you get home: go up to the bedroom, change and meet me in my office.

***

I walked as confidently (and steadily) as I possibly could, what with the towering heels and skimpy underwear that made everything jiggle like jelly. The underwear set (suspender belt and all) was from Coco de Mer, which I knew was the kinkiest, fanciest sex shop in London. My ensemble was gorgeous, all vintage, translucent black lace, so fine I was practically naked. The most covered up part of my body was my feet. The stockings were sheer too, with a single black line trailing from my heels to the backs of my thighs, like a little treasure map for someone to follow.

The someone in question was in his sprawling office, sitting on the large leather sofa, feet miles apart and a tumbler of whiskey in his hand. He hadn’t bothered changing out of his work clothes, merely removing his tie and relieving a few of his shirt buttons of their duties. I hesitated in the doorway, but his eyes flicked to me immediately, sharp and searching as always. He looked pleased as he raised a hand, gesturing me forward with two long digits.

Time slowed down as I walked across the room, his searing gaze of appraisal causing me to momentarily forget how my own legs functioned. I stopped in the gap between his knees, but he didn’t lean forward to touch me. He remained lounging against the back of the sofa, one hand on his thigh, the other on the glass of bourbon, languidly running his eyes over every part of me. I felt even more naked than before.

After many minutes of inaction, he set the tumbler aside, his large hands reaching for me instantly, grasping the backs of my thighs possessively.

“You are exquisite, Charlotte. I imagined you wearing this when I saw it, but I must say, you have certainly exceeded expectations,” he purred lowly, looking up at me through hooded eyes. I flushed, fizzing all over with gratitude. I really didn’t have ‘the perfect body’, not like Tom. I had wobbly bits, particularly on my bottom half, which was also marred with cellulite and wiggly silver stretch marks that made bikini season a personal nightmare. And yet, Tom never saw any of that, never thought I looked anything but perfect.

“Shall we begin?” he asked, leaning back in a louche pose once more. It was a rhetorical question: we’d be starting if that was what he wanted, but I answered nonetheless, as was expected of me.

“Yes, Tom.”

“Good girl. Go and stand by my desk,” he instructed. It was a large, dark confection, surprisingly antique-like for Tom’s ultra-modern home. In fact, the entire office had an older, gentleman’s club feel to it, which I actually rather liked. As I got closer to the desk, I realised what it reminded me of: the table in the library, the one that I had encouraged Tom to bend me over at the gala.

I looked over my shoulder at him, and he smiled, knowingly.

“Eyes forward, Charlotte,” he intoned, my ears (on high alert) picking up on the sound of leather creaking as he stood. I fixed my attention to a spot on the wall across from me, wishing there was a painting or something to actually focus on, rather than blank wall. ‘I’ll have to coax him into getting more photos or paintings for this place, it’s like a show house!’

He had crept up behind me, while I worried over the décor. He reached round me, extending my hands out, wrists together. My gaze didn’t so much as flicker when I felt the slightly rough texture of silk rope sliding across my skin, binding my hands palm to palm.

“Comfortable?” Tom asked, testing the strength of his knot.

“Yes, Tom.”

“Can you snap your fingers?” he enquired. I frowned in confusion, but did it anyway, my digits clicking loudly.

“Excellent. That will be your non-verbal ‘safe word’ henceforth. Click twice, and I will know to stop. Understood?” I was puzzled as to why I would need a non-verbal safe word, but I nodded obediently.

“Yes, Tom.” He moved away, and I struggled to keep my gaze where he had commanded it. Cold metal touched my lips, and I started with surprise.

“Open,” Tom whispered lowly, right against my ear. I shivered, doing as instructed. It wasn’t until it was secured in my mouth that I finally cottoned on to what it was: a ball gag. A drumbeat of anxiety hammered through me- we hadn’t used gags before, and I didn’t quite know how to feel about it. The ball itself was relatively small, enough to wedge my mouth open, but not uncomfortably so. It was cold against the inside of my mouth; my tongue couldn’t stop dancing against it, curiously.

Tom waited, to see if my fingers were feeling clicky. But once I had recovered from the initial shock, anticipation had begun to surge through me. Satisfied, he grasped my bound wrists, pushing them across the surface of the table. His other hand pressed down on my spine until I was lying across the glossy wood, my hips just brushing the edge. I stared at the black ropes around my wrists, adjusting to breathing with the gag in.

A muffled moan ripped from my throat as Tom traced the length of my spine with his tongue. He pushed my hair aside, nipping playfully at the nape of my neck, before going in reverse. His palms gripped the bare globes of my ass, kneading the flesh luxuriantly. I could feel his breath faintly on the backs of my legs, and realised he must be crouching behind me. I heard soft little snaps- the garter belt being unlatched. Tom’s hands slid up, pulling down my knickers slowly, stroking down my legs as he went, and lifting each ankle so I could step out of them. He kissed and licked the ticklish spot behind my knees, right up to the juncture between thigh and buttocks. I shrieked when he sunk his teeth in there, clearly intent on leaving a stark mark; a twin for the one on my shoulder.

“You look so tempting like this Charlotte, laid out like a feast on my desk”, he drawled, once again standing upright, stroking his palm over my arse. “Indulgence shall have to wait for later, I’m afraid. I still have to punish you for that little incident in the library,” he continued silkily. My head jerked, bombarded by the memory: 40, he had said. He laughed.

“Did you think I had forgotten, pet? Did you hope I had?” he taunted, smoothing his hands over my skin in a way that made me coil up with anticipation of a smack at any moment. Instead, he kicked my legs wide apart, making me wobble slightly. His hands disappeared from my skin, reappearing moments later as he fastened a strap of cool leather around one ankle, then the other. I fidgeted, unsure of what was going on behind me, but when I attempted to shift my legs, I realised with a hot flush of exhilaration that I couldn’t- something was in between them, holding them apart.

“The spreader bar will assist you in maintaining this lovely position, Charlotte. Believe me, you’ll be grateful for the support,” Tom said, his voice deep with lust and enjoyment as he delivered a sharp swat to my arse. It took my swirling mind a moment to realise that it wasn’t his palm that had collided with my flesh, but something narrower, rectangular in shape.

“If memory serves, I promised you forty hits…but as this is your first time with the paddle, I am willing to be lenient. We will see how you fare with fifteen. The remainder will be reserved for a later date,” he added, painting my skin with another lick of the paddle. I jolted forwards, crying out in shock, my squeals managing to make themselves known even around the ball gag. I screwed my eyes closed, squeezing my hands in anticipation of the next few swats, which Tom delivered rapidly and precisely, always hitting the fleshy spot between buttock and thigh that he had bitten earlier. As with the first time Tom had spanked me, I felt a disconcerting mixture of pain and arousal and dread. After the first ten hits, I concluded that I definitely preferred Tom using his own hands; though they were capable of inflicting plenty of discomfort, there was simply something more…intimate about Tom’s hands colouring my arse livid red than a vicious little paddle.

“Remember, Charlotte, this is a punishment for disobeying me. All you have to do in order to avoid these punishments is give yourself to me, mind and body. I will never ask you do something you are incapable of, nor anything that will injure or harm you beyond endurance,” Tom explained, his voice dark and hypnotic, never letting up his well-aimed strikes. “Your role is to submit to me. Hand control over to me, and I will take care of you. It will take you time to understand this, to agree to it wholeheartedly. But, no matter. I can wait,” he intoned, completing his speech and my punishment.

I took great, gulping breathes around the gag, noting with embarrassment that I had managed to drool over my chin a little- not that I could do much to rectify the situation. Tom tenderly stroked my flaming skin, making me flinch anew. He placed a calming palm on my back, making soft, soothing noises.

“You took that so wonderfully, Charlotte. Will you ever cease to impress me?” he said, carefully raising me up and turning me to face him. My sore butt rested against the edge of the desk, and I tried desperately to move my weight off it, but the angle I was resting at and the bar between my ankles left me with no choice. Tom grasped my bound wrists, moving my hands up and over my head to rest at the nape of my neck, trailing his fingers down the exposed insides of my arms, each hand firmly grasping a breast. Tom dipped his head, rasping his tongue against a lace-covered nipple, his long fingers nipping and pinching at the other with such fervour that my hips began to wriggle of their own accord, almost making me slip from the desk.

“Steady on,” Tom murmured, blowing cool air over one lavished nipple, before turning his attention (and lips) to the other. I whined, tipping my head back as the pleasure began rampantly pounding through my veins. Tom took my cue, slipping his free hand between my legs, coating his fingers in my slippery fluids and pumping two digits insistently into my core, curling them in a ‘come hither’ motion designed to make me squeal even louder.

“Come, Charlotte,” he whispered against my chest, his command breaking the dam of arousal, allowing my orgasm to flood through my body, contracting all of my muscles and wrenching the loudest cry of all from my lips.

I floated back to Earth to find Tom tracing two slick fingers across my collarbone, his pointed tongue following the glistening trail. I moaned around the gag and his eyes flitted up to mine, dark and hungry. He stood to his full height, staring heatedly down at me.

“Do you want me, Charlotte?” he enquired, his voice deliciously deep and gravelly. ‘Hell yes!’

I nodded furiously. He smirked.

“Now, is that a proper answer?” I frowned in confusion- how could I talk properly with the gag in? Still, drawing a deep breath, I gave my best estimation of ‘yes, Tom’. He seemed satisfied by my attempt, reaching around my head to undo the gag. I immediately gasped for air, experimentally moving my stiff jaw.

“How was that?” he asked seriously, holding my chin in his hand. I couldn’t find the adequate words.

“Uh…good, Tom.”

“Are you still with me?” His eyes darted across mine, checking for alertness. I felt perfectly fine, if not for the raging desire that was clouding my mind ever so slightly.

“Yes, Tom.”

“I’m glad to hear it…because we are far from done, love.”


	13. Chapter 13

On the day of my departure, I awoke early in the morning, my nerves frayed by fear of missing my train. Tom’s arms were draped casually around my middle, his tall frame pressed against my back, our legs tangled under the dark sheets. His soft, steady breathes ruffled the hairs on the back of my neck periodically, making me squirm with ticklishness. I stared at the slices of sunlight cutting through the curtains, and I was surprised to realise just how much I would miss Tom in the coming week. I had to frequently remind myself that I had only known him, only had him in my life, for a little over a month. And yet, he had, in that short space of time, become the lead character. I saw less and less of Saranya, even before she had headed off for Easter, and our text conversations were random and light-hearted. The truth was, I hated lying to her about my relationship with Tom, hated it so much that I preferred not to talk to her face to face at all, which bred its own web of guilt. It was easier to avoid her, and to avoid the landmine of conversations that would inevitably erupt if she found out the truth.

 

Tom stirred behind me, groaning quietly as he shifted his sleepy limbs, contracting his arms around me and nuzzling the back of my neck.

“Charlotte, are you awake? What time is it?” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep. I checked his bedside clock.

“It’s five-fifteen, Tom,” I replied, generating fresh groans from behind me. “I’m paranoid about missing my train,” I added.

“Your train isn’t until nine-twenty, Charlotte,” Tom replied patiently.

“I know, I’m just worried I’ll oversleep and miss it. It’s silly, I barely slept during the night.” I placed my hand over Tom’s, carefully tracing the bones and joints with my fingers.

“You need to relax, darling,” he whispered, his lips suddenly brushing against my ear. I shivered, and he pressed his pelvis insistently against my bruised behind, impressing upon me his ‘morning glory’. “Let me help you relax…” he uttered soothingly, his left hand disengaging from mine and sliding over the swell of my bare hip, delicately stroking along my thigh, down as far as his arm could reach. He lifted my leg back and away, hooking it over his own legs and opening up my body to his roaming fingers. He caressed the tender skin on the inside of my thighs, bypassing where I really wanted him and stroking the soft skin beneath my navel instead. His tongue curled around the shell of my ear, his warm breathes making me shudder with heightened sensitivity. My body was still a little sore, a little weary from our exploits the night before, but my libido didn’t care; I was slickly wet within minutes of his careful manipulations, eager for him to take me again.

Tom’s fingers slid through my folds for only a moment, a cursory exploration, before he guided the head of his cock to my entrance, slowly pushing himself into my body, which offered minimum resistance. We both sighed happily, simultaneously, as he seated himself inside me up to the hilt; as much as I enjoyed our sordid, fast and furious sessions, there was definitely a lot to be said about lazy morning sex. Tom was feeling leisurely, refraining from moving his hips at all for several minutes, instead taking the time to feel and taste as much of my body as possible. When his tongue and teeth found my tender spot between neck and shoulder, my hips bucked backwards; my body insistently urging him on. He drew his hips back and began pumping in and out at an unhurried pace, ensuring that he made my eyes roll with every carefully aimed, deep thrust.

I expected him to lose patience at some point, for the race-to-orgasm to take over, but it never happened. Tom continued at his leisurely pace with rapt dedication until I quaked and moaned helplessly in his arms; until his own release was drawn out.

I rolled over to face him, kissing his chest and collarbones, damp and salty with sweat. He held me close to his side, grasping one of my hands in his and holding them above us in the air, staring at them speculatively.

“You have such delicate little hands, Charlotte,” he murmured, and I turned my hand in his, palm to palm. The tips of my fingers didn’t even reach the top joints of his long digits.

“Maybe your hands are just freakishly big, Tom,” I teased, giggling and squealing when he growled, capturing my hand and pulling it down to his mouth, attacking my knuckles with kisses.

“You’ve never complained about my ‘freakishly big’ anything before,” he remarked rakishly, winking.

“And where would I address such complaints, theoretically speaking?” I bantered back, enjoying the riposte.

“To the person in charge, of course.”

I pretended to look confused.

“And who would that be?”

“You’re looking at him.” I shut my eyes, grinning.

“I don’t see anything.”

“ _Ha ha_ , funny girl,” he rumbled. My giggling ceased abruptly when his nimble fingers pinched my bum, my eyes flying open in shock.

“You cheated,” I said petulantly, pouting as he smirked at me.

“Yes, I did. Now, go back to sleep.”

Tom kissed my pouting lips tenderly, letting out a deep sigh and lying back on his pillow. I curled myself tighter against him, not holding out much hope of getting back to sleep.

*

Tom lifted my modest suitcase from the boot of his double-parked car, resting it on the pavement outside the train station. We had left his house in plenty of time, but the London morning rush hour had ensured that we arrived with much less time to spare than I would have liked. I was exhausted from my restless night’s sleep, whereas Tom looked as fresh as a daisy- a suited and booted daisy. He took my hand, pulling me flush up against him and, unmindful of the dozens of bustling commuters around us, pressed his lips to mine in a searing, open-mouthed kiss. My embarrassment made way almost instantly for the faint, warm pulse of fresh arousal, but I reluctantly pulled back, still afraid of missing my train. That and, Tom’s grip on my arse had shifted from ‘light’ to downright uncomfortable.

“Ouch. My butt is still suffering from last night,” I whispered, smiling when he laughed.

“Something to remember me by…” he rumbled, giving my arse another, farewell squeeze before he let me go all together. I grasped my wheeley case and placed my handbag over the handle, doddling for time. I peered up at Tom through my eyelashes, registering the flutter of emotion crossing his deep blue eyes. I was sure mine looked equally subdued.

“I’m not likely to forget you,” I said, softly, shyly. Tom smiled faintly. He reached forward impulsively, grasping the back of my head and kissing me again, harder than before. I blinked slowly, still recovering even as he returned to the driver’s side of the Jag.

“I’ll see you in a week. Seven-forty,” he promised, sliding into the dark grey car and shutting the door behind him. I waited on the pavement, watching him merge with the other traffic, before heading inside the station.

‘ _Just one week. No problem.’_

**

I tried not to let thoughts of Tom slip into my mind too often, especially when I was around Nana and her little friends, which was almost every minute of every hour. I loved my Nana, loved hearing her funny little stories about her childhood, about her and my grandpa during their ‘courting years’, but I was bored by the tiny confines of the village, bored of attending church events and having afternoon tea with ancient neighbours. I missed London, missed the buzz and the anonymity of the city. I also missed Tom, and the fast, glitzy life that I lived through him.

Prior to my departure, Tom had insisted that I text him every day, to reassure him that all was well. I thought he was being (typically) overbearing, and we had a slight argument, in which Tom had produced the ‘concerned boyfriend’ card and thus emerged victorious.

Tom replied sparingly at first, brief acknowledgements of my own texts, but by day four, he proved that he was getting antsy by sending a few more…explicit messages. One in particular had me choke so severely on a shortbread finger that my Nana ordered me to my old room with a glass of water and painkillers (I wasn’t entirely sure of her logic, but the thought was there). I lay on the faded pink duvet, cursing Tom internally- what if Nana, or worse, one of her cronies, had seen what he sent me? They would’ve had a coronary.

Tom’s dirty picture came complete with commands for me to reciprocate. ‘ _Not going to happen, Hiddleston.’_  After perhaps twenty minutes, my phone pinged again- Tom wanted to know what was taking so long.

14:07 Tom, I’m at my Nana’s! I can’t do that! x

 _14:11_   _I don’t see how that is an impediment. I assume you have locks on the bathroom door?_

14:13 It’s too weird- locks or no locks! x

 _14:15_   _Are you disobeying me, Charlotte? I would have hoped you would be acquainted with the consequences of doing so by now._

I bit my lip anxiously, torn between creeping myself out or angering and disappointing Tom. I didn’t want to add any more to my bank of punishments, I was still 25 in the red. Then, an idea hit me.

I shut my bedroom door firmly and opened my wardrobe, revealing a full length mirror. I quickly peeled off my leggings and changed into slightly sexier knickers, a pair of lacy palest pink Brazilian cut knickers which revealed the full extent of the purple bruises Tom and his paddle had gifted me, complete with a faint set of teethmarks. I contorted myself in all manner of ways and, after a few attempts, I had a satisfactory (at least in my opinion) picture that would hopefully keep Tom sated- for a while.

14:21 This will have to suffice! x

“Charlotte!” My Nana called from downstairs, seconds after I sent Tom the photo. I felt guilty even talking to her. I hastily pulled on my leggings and cracked open my door.

“Yes, Nana?”

“We’re just heading over to the church now, dear. We’ll probably be a couple of hours. Will you be alright alone?” I smothered a smile at her concern.

“Yes, Nana, I’ll be fine. Have fun!”

“Bye dear.”

My phone began to ring and I dived back into the room. It was Tom.

“The sooner you return, the better. My wrist is tiring, and no amount of photos of your delicious body live up to the real thing- the feel, sound, and taste of you,” he growled, forgoing the traditional ‘hello’. I bit my lip, flushing instantly at his sordid tone and filthy words.

“Tom…” I collapsed onto my bed, staring out of the skylight as I listened to his gorgeous voice seduce me down the phone.

“Are you blushing, Charlotte? Good. I love it when you blush, so pink and prettily for me. The sight of the blood rushing to your face makes the blood rush to my-”

“Tom!” My voice cracked. ‘ _God help me, I’m going to have phone sex in my Nana’s house.’_  “Tom, I really can’t do this now,” I pleaded, my body battling against my brain. Tom chuckled darkly; the sound tickling across my skin like cold wind.

“Be reasonable, Charlotte. You can’t send me a photograph of your pert little arse, all bruised from your punishment and wrapped in those skimpy lace knickers, and expect me  _not_ to react.”

“I…I don’t know what to say. I’ve never done… _this_  before.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he assured me, coaxingly.  “Just listen, close your eyes…and feel free to take off any clothing you may currently be wearing,” he added deviously.

“If I was with you, I would unwrap you like a present, peel each garment off you slowly. I’d kiss every newly exposed piece of your porcelain skin- your arms, legs, stomach. Then I’d kiss each of your pink nipples until they pebbled under my tongue, rasping against my taste buds. And I must say, Charlotte, that you do taste absolutely  _exquisite_ …” I bit my lip at the low pitch of his voice, shifting my hips on the bed. The phone was held so tightly to my ear that I expected to have a keypad adorning one side of my head by the time our conversations had ended.

“…I’d slide two fingers along your wet cunt, and then I’d slide those same two fingers into your mouth and have you suck them clean for me. And while you did that, I’d be imagining you sucking something else. I’ll never get the image of you sucking me off out of my head- not that I’d want to; you were perfection, kneeling at my feet, using your little hand to help your mouth cope with me….”

I moaned quietly, the imagery of Tom’s language and the ever-deepening cadence of his voice getting to me in a bad way.

“Tom, are you…?”

“Getting myself off to the thought of fucking you breathless? Why yes, Charlotte, yes I am,” he replied, sounding strained. Heat darted through my lower abdomen, and I unconsciously slid my hand beneath my knickers, tentatively touching my swollen clit.  _‘He has me wet and horny as hell just by talking to me…this man is going to be the death of me.’_ “Touch yourself, Charlotte,” he commanded.

“I am, I already am!” I confessed, too turned on to be embarrassed any longer.

“ _God, Charlotte_. What I wouldn’t do to have you kneeling between my legs right now. I’d sell my soul to the devil. But no…where were we? Ah yes. I’d take off my tie and tell you to stretch out your fine little wrists to me, and you’d do it, like the good girl you are. But how would I tie you up? Hands at the base of your spine? Or at the base of your neck?  _Oh no_ , I’ve a better idea. I’d lie you down on the bed and tie you to the headboard- nice and tight, so you couldn’t move about too much. You’d be squirming at this point, just  _writhing_  and  _begging_  for me to take you. I’d want to make you wait, teach you that you can’t rush me. I’m in charge. But the sight of you on my bed, so willingly helpless and desperate to be fucked; how could a gentleman resist pleasing a lady in that circumstance? I’d lean over you, caging you in completely, watching the expressions flit across your face when I  _finally_  give in…”

We were both panting audibly, Tom’s dirty monologue punctuated by mutual moans and groans.

 “-that little gasp you always make when I first thrust into you is ah the most _beautiful sound…_ ”he continued, his voice noticeably catching. I pressed the phone tighter against my ear, picking up the faint sound of wet movements.

As my arousal grew, my mind flickered back to the events of Tuesday night, all while Tom continued to serenade me with poetic filth.

Shaking after one muscle-spasming orgasm, Tom had removed the spreader bar and led me over to lie on the sofa. I flinched at the cold leather touching my hot, sweaty skin, but the pair of us warmed it up in no time. Tom deftly untied my wrists, producing another length of rope and cleverly binding each wrist to the cuffs around my ankles- immobilising me with my hips and legs open in pure invitation, my knees drawn up near my chest. He undressed slowly, teasing me with every new stretch of pale, toned flesh. He knelt between my legs, cupping my throat in his palm, pressing his thumb and fingers into the sensitive spot beneath my jaw, never breaking eye contact. His hand slid down the length of my neck, over my collarbones, between my breasts, the tips of his fingers stretching to touch both nipples as they passed on their descent to my wet cunt. He touched me only briefly before he gripped my hips firmly, thrusting into me with frenzied speed, a punishing rhythm that didn’t let up once until he came. The veins etched on his temples and flushed throat eventually subsided, along with his moans, but he wasn’t quite finished yet, rubbing my tender clit until I came for the second time.

“Are you close, Charlotte?” Tom’s gravelly voice returned me to the present, a present in which I was desperately touching myself in pursuit of release, trying to curl my fingers in a way that Tom always did so effectively. My breaths were now short and rapid, my hairline beading with sweaty exertion.

“Y-yes, Tom.”

“God, I wish I was there. I want to feel you clenching around my cock, my hands bruising your delicious hips as they buck desperately against mine. I want to see your eyes roll back in your head, see your mouth drop open at the exact moment that I  _claim you-_ ”

My orgasm slammed into me, tearing a shriek from my throat as my walls clenched rhythmically against my fingers, all the while wishing it was Tom’s cock. My perceptive capabilities returned just in time for me to hear Tom reach his own release; a mixture of throaty groans and harsh swear words. As his rapid breathes began to lose momentum, I tried to picture the expression on his face after he had come- relieved, and blissful, a small smile curling the edges of his thin lips as he tenderly pulled my hot, sweaty body against his own.

“I miss you,” I blurted out, my post-orgasmic mind clearly still sans filter. Tom laughed softly, breathlessly.

“I miss you too, Charlotte. I’d say that is fairly obvious.”

“No, I mean…” What did I mean? ‘ _I miss cuddling with you after? I miss all the soft kisses and resting my ear against your heartbeat? I miss falling asleep, wrapped up in your bed sheets and your arms, completely sated?’_  I couldn’t say any of that.

“…I mean, that was fun-  _really_  fun- but it’s not the same as actually  _being_  with you, Tom,” I said, twisting what I really wanted to say into something suitably vague.

“I know, Charlotte,” he replied softly, “But it won’t be long, only…seventy-five hours to go. Not that I’m counting.” I laughed, detecting a half-mocking smile behind his words. Maybe he missed me more than I gave him credit for.

“Seventy-five hours, okay. I think I can survive that.”

“Of course you can, just keep yourself occupied. Go for walks, feed your chickens-”

“You are never going to let the chicken thing go, are you?” I asked, pretending to be incensed by his laughter.

“Not a chance. Goodbye, my little country bumpkin. I’ll see you soon.”


	14. Chapter 14

I was carrying another secret.

When Tom gallantly collected me from the train station, I had already resolved not to tell him about my Nana, not wanting to burden him with the worry that was worming and coiling in the pit of my stomach. I’ve never been the best at sharing my problems, always hiding them away from view; my Grandpa called me his ‘little clamshell’, because prising anything out of me when I was upset was nigh impossible.

 

I hadn’t wanted to tell Tom anything. Nothing bar: ‘Yes, Tom, I had a lovely time, thanks for asking’. I didn’t want to tell him about my Nana’s crippling back pain, or about all of the objects she had dropped or knocked over with shaky hands, or how frail and thin she was, or how she had forgotten who I was for a full ten minutes, staring at me with cloudy mistrustful eyes until I tearfully, fearfully produced my driver’s license to prove that I was who I said.

We had just stepped into his house when he squeezed it all out of me, scooped it out with one sharp, unyielding glare, and an equally sharp reprimand for lying to him. I cracked instantly, felt my body quiver with tears the instant he demanded the truth. I told him everything, every little detail I had fretted over in the past week. “She didn’t know me, her f-face was blank…I thought she was j-joking…it was s-so sc-scary…she was f-f-fine at Christmas…what will I d-do? She’ll have to go to a h-home…”

Tom listened intently, never interrupting or dismissing. He held my hand tightly in his own, the other hand passing me fresh tissues at intervals. When I was all cried out, my eyes and ears and throat sore from sobbing and talking for so long, he held my face in his hands and asked: “What can I do, Charlotte?” I shook my head, feebly, but he persisted. “Let me help you,” he said, half in earnest, half a command. I cast my mind around, but I already knew what he could –and would- do to help me, to grant me a reprieve from my own mind.

“C-can you make me forget…just for a while?”                            

He kissed my warm forehead and led me to his room, pushing me to lie back on the soft mattress and slowly, carefully undressing me like I was a china doll. He reverently pressed his lips to each of my wrists and ankles, before binding all four limbs to the bedposts with silk scarves.

As Tom’s fingers gently explored every inch of my skin, I shut my eyes and focussed every point of my concentration on to the feelings he was evoking- the shudders, the goosebumps, the way my lungs tensed and my skin puckered whenever his roaming hands touched a spot that kindled my desire. I shut off my emotional feelings, and gave myself over to the physical.

I felt the tip of Tom’s tongue graze over my nipple, teasing it briefly before engulfing the little bud in his warm, wet mouth and sucking until my whole strung body attempted to arch into him. The fabric of his suit grated against my tender skin, heightening every nerve-ending as he slid down my body, his tongue tracing a trail down my abdomen, teeth biting into my soft fleshy belly. My breath stuttered as I felt his whispering at my swollen core, his hands gripping at my pillowy inner thighs, making sure he had the best view.

My mind froze as it cottoned on to what he was about to do; I had hoped for it for so long that the whirring cogs in my head could barely believe it was happening, even as his tongue slid up the length of my folds, exploring me in the most intimate way.

I cried out when his stubble accidently grazed my clit, moaning in appreciation when he sought to sooth it with slow, careful licks. My hips moved to the rhythm his tongue set, as best they could, considering how tightly I was tied down on the mattress.

Tom’s tongue lavished swirling patterns over my clit, my folds, and my entrance, never staying in one place too long, and thus never allowing me to start the climb to orgasm that I desperately needed. Mercifully, he too lost patience, one huge hand slipping under my arse and tilting my pelvis up into his face at the optimum angle for the two beckoning fingers that had stealthily slid inside me. His lips sealed around my swollen clit in an open-mouthed kiss, and I wished that I could see what he looked like with his head between my legs; cheekbones starkly hollowed, lips pursed, his searing blue eyes peering up my body to connect with mine as he pushed me over the edge, his talented fingers massaging that ultra-sensitive spot inside me until my body coiled and clamped down, ecstatic noises pouring from my open mouth…

“Nooo…nooo,” I groaned, but I didn’t mean it, and he didn’t stop his careful ministrations until I came again, my orgasm crashing over my tired body like breakers. The euphoria faded rapidly, sliding into hollow sadness, and he carefully untied each of my limbs. Tom climbed onto the bed, resting his back against the headboard and hugging me to him as I cried anew. I buried my face against his exposed clavicles, gripping the grainy fabric of his suit as if I feared he might disappear. He didn’t say anything for a while. He didn’t need to. I clung to him, and he clung right back. That was all I needed.

“Is there anyone else who can help you with your grandmother?” Tom enquired delicately, breaking the silence.

 I grimaced; we were into dangerous territory. “I don’t have anyone.”

“That isn’t true. You have me.”

“Do I?” I asked, my voice pitifully hopeful as I turned to peer up at him. His eyes, open and sincere, flickered down to mine.

“Of course,” he replied, as if it should surely have been obvious to me. “I will do my utmost to help you, and support you, with all of this- if you want me to.” I felt an invisible weight flee my body.

“Thank you, Tom.”

“You’re welcome, Charlotte,” he replied, rubbing away the frown lines between my brows with his finger.

The frown lines returned when he suddenly got up, gently untangling himself from me. It seemed cuddle-time was over.

“Sorry, I just want to change into something a little more comfortable,” he explained, noticing my expression.

“Okay.”

I laid back against the headboard, watching Tom divest himself of his swish suit jacket. An involuntary shiver wracked my body, and Tom immediately grasped the end of the duvet, wrapping it around me. I coiled it tighter, until I was padded several layers thick, my head the only part exposed.

“I’m like a slug,” I commented, more to myself than anything. I jumped slightly as Tom cackled with laughter, his head throw back dramatically, his unbuttoned shirt hanging from his shoulders. I grinned at his reaction. ‘ _Comic relief- much needed!’_

“You’re the prettiest slug of them all,” he declared jokingly, kissing my forehead.

“That’s the weirdest, most potentially backhanded compliment I’ve ever received…but thanks.”

I observed in thoughtful silence as he hung away his work clothes, and slipped into a pair of comfy sweats and a borderline threadbare t-shirt. Even in super casual ‘chill’ clothes, he looked ridiculously attractive; the shirt didn’t do anything to hide his toned abdomen, and the sweatpants hugged his butt admirably.

“Tom…”

“Yes?”

“I want to talk to you about something,” I said, tentatively. Tom frowned lightly, concern already blossoming across the planes of his face.

“What is it?”

“It’s a ‘tea’ sort of talk,” I explained, wriggling to the edge of the bed.

“It’s alright, I’ll do it. Give me a minute.”

Tom reappeared with a tray bedecked with mugs, teapot, milk jug and –most importantly- biscuits, in a matter of minutes.

“I put the heat on for a while. Though, really, that ought not to be necessary in _May_ ,” he remarked, carefully balancing the tray on his bedside table. The rattle of china gave away that his hands shook a little. I pulled my sluggish self into a sitting position, extracting both arms to receive my brimming tea cup.

“What did you want to talk about?” Tom asked immediately, voice tight. His eyes were noticeably more guarded than they had been only minutes before.

I took a deep breath.

“My family.” Tom’s eyebrows rose in unison, but he said nothing, only nodding for me to continue.

“When we first started dating, you asked me about my family, and I refused to answer you. I wasn’t just being difficult, or stubborn…talking about my family is hard because, well, it’s pretty fucked up,” I confessed. Tom choked slightly when I swore, making me smile involuntarily. ‘ _If only he knew all the dirty words I say inside my head…and all the dirty thoughts I think.’_

“You thought I would judge you?” He enquired, tilting his head inquisitively. I hesitated.

“Well yes, a bit. More so now, I guess, but then, when I didn’t know you…I didn’t really care what you thought, it’s just…something that’s hard for me to talk about, you know? It’s really personal and private, and I don’t tell many people.” Tom reached for my hand, his thumb caressing my palm.

“Then I am honoured,” he said softly. A line like that from anyone else would have had me rolling my eyes for days, but his overwhelming sincerity carried the words perfectly.

“Okay, so…here goes. You know I’m close to my Nana, well, that’s because she raised me. Actually, she and my grandpa raised me, but he passed away last year,” I said, my voice already wavering. I stared at a spot just above Tom’s head and recollected myself. His hand still held mine. “The reason that my grandparents brought me up is that my mother…she- well, she was pretty young when had me, only seventeen. But that wasn’t really the big issue. She was a drug addict. And I don’t mean she enjoyed a bit of weed every day, I mean she was a hard-core drug addict- meth, coke, heroin… Anything she could get her hands on. She dropped out of school when she was fifteen and ran off to Bristol without a penny. I’m not really sure what actually happened in those two years, but you can imagine.”

I paused for a beat, taking a long sip of tea to steady myself.

“Anyway, at some point, she ended up pregnant. I don’t know who my father was, I’m not even sure if she knew, but if she did, she went to her grave knowing it. She didn’t run back to my grandparents the second she was pregnant, that would have meant admitting defeat. So, she had me and we moved in with her current druggie boyfriend, whose name escapes me, and all was fine for about four years. I mean, I say  _fine_ , but she wasn’t much of a mother. She wasn’t interested in anything but getting stoned; if she wasn’t stoned, she was angry at the world, and everything, including me, pissed her off. When she was stoned, she’d lie in her bed and forget all about me.”

I chanced a glance at Tom. His face seemed to have collapsed in on itself with sadness. I looked away quickly.

“I don’t remember most of it, thankfully it was probably too early for me to understand much, but I do remember being afraid of her. She never hit me or anything, but what she did do was scary enough. All psychological, I guess. Neglect and all that. Seriously, I don’t know what social services were doing. Anyway, around the time I was three, she passed out unconscious in the street and got taken to hospital… She found out that she had AIDS. That was the slap in the face she needed to go flying back to my grandparents. They took me in, bless them, and my grandpa researched about HIV cures for months, but of course, there are none. She died when I was seven. By that point, she had been mostly living in hospices for four years… I d-didn’t go to visit her very much-” I stopped, choked by tears as waves of guilt washed over me, right on cue.

“You can stop, if you want, Charlotte,” Tom whispered, cupping my face in his palm. I shook my head, determined to get it all out now that the dam had been broken.

“I…I h-hated her. So much. I was just a kid, and I saw all the other mums at the school gates, how happy and loving they were, and I wanted to know why my mother had been so cold, why she had abandoned me with my grandparents. I knew she was sick, but ‘HIV’- that didn’t mean anything to me.”

I shut my eyes. “I wasn’t even sorry when she died,” I whispered, almost too ashamed to say it out loud. I expected Tom to recoil at my confession, but he moved the teacups away and pulled me closer, wrapping his arms around my shoulders as I collapsed into fresh sobs.

“I-I’m a h-horrible person.”

“Oh, Charlotte. You aren’t horrible at all. You’re the least horrible person I know. You’ve been through so much, darling,” he assured me, lying back on the bed and stroking my hair back from my tear-stained face. My stomach dipped when I looked into his eyes.

“Really?”

“Yes, really,” he assured me, lifting my hand and kissing each fingertip. We lay in companionable quiet for a little while longer, until my tears and hiccups finally dried up.

“Charlotte…thank you for telling me all of that. I know it must have been a struggle for you.”

“It was nice, actually. I feel a little less burdened, now,” I confessed, my mind and limbs slowly relaxing as I cuddled up beside him, inhaling his comforting scent. “And, you know…I trust you,” I added, ducking my head and blushing slightly. For some reason, that felt like the biggest confession of the evening. He took a while to respond.

“I know, Charlotte,” Tom replied, at last. His voice sounded strangely sad, and uncharacteristically tiny. But I didn’t know why.


	15. Chapter 15

My phone vibrated loudly, dancing across my desk. I groaned, running a clawed hand through my unwashed hair. ‘No, no distractions! I need to study! Ughh!’ I didn’t even check the caller ID. I needed to study; I had been in full-tilt exam mode for three weeks, and my two final (and most hideous) exams were on the horizon.

The phone persisted with its little jive. I thumped my fist against an open text book and snatched my phone up, accepting the fact that I had already been sufficiently distracted by it, and may as well answer the damn thing.

“Hello?” I said, tersely.

“It’s me.” My body relaxed as the deep cadence of Tom’s voice reached my ear. But my mind immediately pricked up- we had agreed he wouldn’t call me for a couple of days before my pharmacology exam, unless something serious came up.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I haven’t seen you in almost five days, that is what’s wrong.” I grimaced. He was right- in fact, we had barely seen each other at all in the past three weeks, my exam timetable was pulling us apart with no mercy.

“I know, I’m sorry. I’m just trying to cram my head full of this stuff and it isn’t working!” I wailed, staring balefully at the mass of books and, frankly, incomprehensible notes on my desk.

“You sound stressed, Charlotte…I have an idea. Why don’t you come over and play with me? I’m bored, and you’re clearly going out of your mind,” he teased, a wide smirk evident from his tone. ‘Unf. There’s an invitation no girl should ever have to refuse.’

I sighed, leaning back in my chair and staring at the ceiling. “I want to, believe me. But I’m too stressed about this exam tomorrow- and you keep distracting me!”

“This is the first time I’ve called you in several days,” he pointed out. I huffed.

“Well, you’re still distracting me!”

“I can’t stop thinking about you, either.” I blushed, smiling like a total loser. “We’re going out on Saturday, by the way,” he added, somewhat undermining his previously tender statement.

“Oh are we indeed?” I asked, archly.

“Yes. I’m putting my foot down- you need a break from all this studying or you’re going to spontaneously combust. Fortunately, I have a perfect diversion in mind that should prevent such a catastrophe.”

“How gallant of you to protect me from myself, Mr Hiddleston.” He laughed throatily.

“I’ll collect you at seven. Good luck for tomorrow.”

“Thanks, I need it.”

“No, you don’t. You could beat everyone blindfolded, with your hands tied behind your back… ooh now there’s a nice mental image,” he purred. A fleet of shivers rippled up my spine.

“S-stop filling my head with debauched thoughts,” I protested, feebly. I was so preoccupied with exams that I was reticent about even gifting myself with fifteen minutes of leisure time to relieve some tension- of the more sexual kind. I didn’t doubt that, once I was freed of my university obligations for the summer, Tom would assist me in making up for lost time.

He laughed again. “I’m sure you have plenty of debauched thoughts all your own, in spite of your innocent demeanour.”

“You keep thinking that,” I responded primly. ‘If only you knew the things I think about you…’

“Oh, I will. The thought should keep me going for the next couple of days,” he said, salaciously.

“I really have to go now,” I sighed, reluctant to return to my books instead of talking with him.

“Alright. I’ll see you soon, Charlotte.”

“Bye, Tom.”

*

True to his word, Tom spent the duration of our ‘date’ relieving me of as much stress as humanly possible. We wined and dined at Gordon’s, a tiny little bar-restaurant tucked into a dark underground wine cellar, near Charing Cross; I had heard great things about it from a few uni acquaintances, but I had never actually got round to testing it out for myself.

The small space should have felt cramped and ominously dark, but the ambience of the bare stone walls, benches and dozens of candles scattered everywhere lent it a certain charm- I immediately appreciated its quirkiness. Tom had, somehow, managed to reserve an almost completely isolated booth for us, tucked away into a shadowy corner. I smirked as we followed the waiter to our seats, Tom’s hand heavy on my lower back; the booth would be perfect for a little bit of private slap and tickle…if only I hadn’t worn a green maxi skirt comprised of about four yards of thick jersey fabric- Tom would be lucky if he could find my legs beneath it, let alone anything else.

We ordered immediately, going for a shared platter of tapas and a bottle of Rioja. The waiter left us in our little alcove, and I slid closer along the bench, snuggling against Tom.

“Hey.” I grinned, running my hand up his toned leg, dangerously close to the family jewels. He started slightly, turning to stare down at me; his eyes looked near-black in the gloomy light, the planes of his face brought into even sharper relief than normal.

“Someone’s keen,” he teased, his lips curling into a knowing smirk.

“Someone’s been too busy studying to have any fun,” I whined, pouting and fluttering my eyelashes for good measure. Tom laughed at my dramatics, leaning down to kiss me. I grasped the back of his neck, trying to pull him in deeper.

“You really are keen. Perhaps we should have had an appetiser before coming out to dinner,” he murmured lowly against my lips. I made a little noise of approval and kissed a path from his lips to the edge of his jaw, and down his throat to his exposed clavicles. His hands caught mine when I began unlatching the buttons he had actually bothered to fasten.

“What?” I whispered, a little put out, “No one can see us!”

“Not true. He can,” Tom said, tipping his head to indicate the blushing waiter stood behind me, wine bottle and glasses in hand. I flushed beet red and groaned, hiding my face against Tom’s shoulder. The two men laughed and bantered good naturedly for a few moments, and then we were left in peace once again. I cautiously sat back, ensuring that no one was lurking nearby.

“That was so embarrassing! Why didn’t you tell me he was standing there?” I said indignantly, giving Tom’s bicep a slight prod and knocking back a big mouthful of wine. He just laughed at me.

“I didn’t notice at first either, darling. I was somewhat distracted,” he pointed out, “Besides, I know how much you love to have an audience-”

“I do not!” I argued, indignantly, “You’re the one with the exhibitionist streak!”

“Is that so? Then I must say, you do a wonderful impersonation of someone who enjoys it.”

“I’m a skilled actress,” I said solemnly, bravely testing a little piece of calamari. I regretted my decision instantly- it was hideously rubbery. Tom, noticing my wrinkled nose and look of disgust, pinched the rest of the ring from my fingers and gobbled it down, licking his lips for emphasis.

“The calamari’s all yours,” I said, settling for a safer option of chorizo.

“How generous of you,” he remarked sardonically, taking a sip of wine. For once, Tom had decided we could just get a taxi instead of him driving us everywhere in the Jag. I understood his reasoning (who doesn’t enjoy a tipple at dinner?), but I did miss the pretty Jag and how sexy Tom looked while driving it.

“So, how did the exam go yesterday? Pharmacology, yes?” I grimaced, licking my oily fingers.

“Yep. It was okay, I suppose. Nothing I didn’t expect but just…ugh, so grim anyway. I’m doubting just about everything I wrote, now,” I admitted, reaching for the wine again. “I genuinely cannot wait until Wednesday. I just want to be free!”

“Not long now Charlotte. You’re almost at the finish line, just keep going a bit longer and then, we can celebrate,” Tom said, smiling like he had a secret. I narrowed my eyes suspiciously.

“What are you up to?” He feigned an innocent expression- better than I would have imagined he was capable of- and fed me an olive.

“Me? Nothing. How is Saranya? Is she sitting exams as well?”

“Tactful topic change,” I remarked, earning another smirk. “She finished last week, the lucky cow. Arts and Humanities always finish before us. She’s heading back home on Thursday, because she got a job for over the summer.”

“That’s a bit of a shame, you won’t be seeing much of her.”

“I know. It sucks,” I mused, not entirely meaning it. Sara and I had enjoyed quite a few girly nights in since she returned after Easter, but there was still an underlying current of awkwardness between us, and whenever she brought up Tom, I felt like a fish floundering out of water.

“Is she moving out of your flat?”

“Technically, yes, but she’s paying rent until the end of July. After that… I don’t know what’s going to happen. She’s graduating in a few weeks, and I’m obviously not. She may be living in London next year, because her job in Essex is only temporary, but she doesn’t know yet…argh! It’s just all so up in the air, I hate it!”

“Try not to worry yourself, Charlotte, everything will work itself out in the end,” Tom said encouragingly. I nodded, trying to take his reassuring words on board, but I was finding that the faster I drank the wine, the less I was concerned about my living arrangements. ‘Bottoms up!’

The waiter returned to clear our plates and enquire about dessert. I chose a coffee, while Tom and his sweet tooth went for a liqueur and something ominously entitled ‘Death by Chocolate’. Tom slid his arm around my shoulders, and I huddled in closer to him again, resting my head against his chest.

“Good news, though, Nana has finally agreed to look into care homes near her.”

“That is good news. Do you think she’s coming around to the idea?” Tom asked, stroking a hand over my hair.

Since the ‘Easter meltdown’, as I referred to it, Tom had taken an active interest in the situation with my grandmother. Which was really just as well, considering how often I talked about it. In fact, it had been Tom who had pushed me to encourage Nana into living in a proper care home, as opposed to just having nurses visit her house every morning and evening; I had been almost ready to concede to her demands, against my better judgment, but with Tom’s encouragement, I had managed to coax her into considering the seriousness of her condition.

“Hmmm I don’t know if I’d go that far, but…baby steps, right?”

“Right,” he said softly, kissing my forehead.

“We always talk about me,” I said, suddenly. Tom raised his brows slightly. “How are things with your family?”

“As it happens, Emma just set a date for her wedding. August of next year.” I idly wondered if I would still be in the picture of Tom’s life come next summer, and if I would be attending said wedding.

“That’s great. How about Sarah? Her due date must be soon, right?”

“Three weeks on Wednesday, although Anna was a week late, so I don’t think she’s getting her hopes up for a prompt delivery,” Tom said, smiling slightly. I had discovered that he was a bit of a secret softie when it came to his niece, even though she did live half way around the world.

“Aw, that’s so exciting! I’m jealous, your family are so drama-free compared to mine,” I brooded, fiddling with my dinky coffee cup. Tom pressed a lingering kiss to my temple, coaxing a reluctant smile out of me.

“Have some chocolate, love. It makes everything better,” he said, winking roguishly as he loaded his spoon with gooey sponge. I licked the spoon clean, taking my sweet time about it. I glanced coquettishly up at Tom, the dark look in his eyes wordlessly telling me that second dessert was about to be served.

**

After a cab ride filled with filthy whispers and excessive groping, I once again found myself lying in the centre of Tom’s luxurious bed, completely naked as he stood nearby. Somewhere amongst the bottle of wine and dirty talk, I had been charmed and coaxed into putting on a little show, just for him.

Unfortunately, things weren’t going quite as planned- chalk it up to performance anxiety.

I was, of course, a blushing mess at first, but I took it slow, closing my eyes and running my hands lightly over my chest and down over my abdomen. I did my best to shut out the knowledge that Tom was mere inches away, watching my every move with his sharp gaze. I wriggled my hips slightly, allowing a flow of tantalizing images to invade my mind as I stroked and pinched my nipples into little peaks. My stomach fluttered when I heard Tom’s half groan-half growl, but I shut him out and continued with my self-loving. Jumping a mental hurdle, I spread my legs a bit further apart and slid a teasing pair of fingers between my folds, feeling the modest wetness that had gathered there. Tom’s breathing hitched, then deepened, making his presence known through my now faltering fantasies.

“That’s it, Charlotte… Touch yourself, touch that sweet cunt of yours… Imagine that it’s me touching you… Bring yourself to the edge…” Tom murmured lowly, still refraining from laying hands on me.

His words spurred me on, and I began circling and stroking my clit, eager to get the whole thing over with. Truth be told, I had become a bit lazy about masturbation; with Tom’s near inexhaustive sex drive, I hadn’t really had much need to pleasure myself, and when I did, I was in a hurry. I was out of practice, and, to be frank, I’m not a natural performer. I could tell from Tom’s breathing pattern that he was enjoying what I was doing, but I already felt frustrated at my inability to bring myself off in double-quick time.

After what felt like an age of riding low waves, I considered admitting defeat. I hadn’t been punished in a good while for disobeying, and I was reluctant to collect any more red marks…but the frustration was damn near killing me. Having Tom so close, but doing nothing to assist me, was torture. I wanted his hands on me, in any way possible.

“Tom, I can’t,” I sighed with defeat, balling my hands into fists by my side and opening my eyes. Tom frowned down at me with concern.

“Can’t what, love?”

“I can’t…get myself off, Tom,” I mumbled, staring down at the duvet. Tom tilted my chin up.

“Are you embarrassed?”

“A little bit, yes.”

“You had no trouble doing it over the phone, a while back,” he pointed out. Perhaps his presence was more of an issue than I was admitting. I leant up on my elbows.

“I know, I just feel…awkward. And I’m, uh…this isn’t how I usually um…”

Despite my vagueness, Tom cottoned on immediately. “Ah, you need a bit of extra stimulation.” A devious look glinted in his eyes as he moved slowly to the trunk at the end of the bed. I gulped, pressing my knees together.

“How do you normally pleasure yourself?” he asked huskily, staring up at me. I wished the bed would swallow me up.

“I…I have a vibrator,” I confessed, unreasonably embarrassed by the entire conversation. Tom grinned wolfishly.

“I see. Something like…this, perhaps?” He brandished a black box, opening it and sliding out a large, sleek black vibrator with pale gold detailing. Its shape was surprisingly elegant, giving it an expensive look; I whimpered, realising that it was made for…internal and external stimulation. I was a goner.

“No, smaller. Just a…bullet one,” I admitted, watching the toy warily as Tom approached me.

“This is brand new, top of the range, from what I understand,” he mused, rolling the object in his hands. “I’m intrigued to see what it can do…will you let me play with it, test it on you?”

I inhaled shakily, nodding my head. “Yes, Tom.”

He wrapped a hand around my wrist, gently tugging me off the bed. “That’s my girl,” he murmured, smiling down at me, his eyes darkening and hooded.

Curiously, Tom guided me to stand in the doorway leading to the walk- in wardrobe. He produced a length of rope, tying my wrists together above my head and knotting the end to a hook on the doorframe that I had never before noticed. The way Tom had orchestrated my position, it was a bit of a stretch to get comfortable; I had to either extend my arms to the limits of flexibility, or rise up on the balls of my feet. ‘So much for relaxing.’

“Remember your safe word?” Tom enquired, dipping his head to plant a trio of kisses just below my ear.

“Yes, Tom,” I sighed, twisting the ropes a little; trying to see how much give they had.

“Good,” he murmured, walking back to the trunk and returning with his fist closed. I watched curiously as he splayed his fingers, revealing the two gold metal butterflies lying in his palm. They looked a bit like earrings…but I really doubted that they were for my ears.

Tom’s nimble fingers pinched one of the butterflies by its wings, opening up its feet and carefully attaching it to my nipple. I gasped slightly when it fastened on, surprised by the sharpness of the pain. I could feel blood rushing to where the butterfly sat, but I gave Tom a slight smile of approval, and he attached the twin.

“Mmmm lovely,” he hummed, running his thumbs beneath the clamps; making me wince and shiver at how sensitive my breasts felt already. Tom slid his hand over the swell of my hip, dipping his hand between my legs; in the mere minutes since he had taken charge, I was so swollen and stimulated that I jumped at his touch, my hips bucking towards him in hopes of more. Tom laughed softly.

“Now…shall we play, Charlotte?” Tom asked, his voice skipping lower as he gripped the vibrator in his fist.

“Yes, Tooom!” My reply was warped the instant Tom pressed the humming head against my clit. My body immediately attempted to cave in on itself in response to the power of the vibrations, but my trussed up formation made it impossible to escape what Tom was doing to me.

“The aim of the game, Charlotte, is, of course, to make you come…but if you dare to come before I give permission, you will be punished. Understood?” he rumbled, gripping my chin in his free hand and tilting my face up to his.

“Ahhh y-yes, Tom! Oooh…” The vibrations rose in waves throughout my body, sending my erotic sensations into overdrive. My little bullet vibe had nothing on this machine.

Tom pressed himself closer to me, and I could feel the heat of his body through the fine fabric of his shirt. I tugged against the bindings on my wrists, desperate to reach out and touch him as my moans grew louder and higher pitched by the second. Tom’s free hand traced down over my tender chest, swooping around my back to grip and grope my arse while he pressed the vibrator in agonizing circles on my clit.

“Aahhh ahhh T-Tooom,” I whined, my teeth practically chattering as I tried to fight back the engulfing waves of orgasm that were threatening to unravel me.

“Beg me, Charlotte,” Tom growled, nipping my earlobe between his teeth. The sensation of his breath tickling the tiny hairs at my nape sent me reeling even further.

“P-pleaasse! Please, Tom-”

“Please what, Charlotte? Tell me what you want,” Tom murmured, languidly thrusting his hips against my stomach.

“Please, I…I want t-to c-c-come!”

Tom pulled me tighter against him, nuzzling from my collarbones right up to my ear, blowing cool air into the shell before commanding: “Come.Now.”

I shrieked as I came, overwhelmed by the sheer force of my orgasm. Tom bit down on my shoulder as my body rose up, my back bowing with drawn-out pleasure. He (fortunately) removed the vibrator from the danger zone, and I relaxed against the ropes, trying to catch a breath as my body simmered into a lovely, warm post-orgasmic haze.

“My my, that was a swift response,” Tom remarked, looking mightily pleased with himself. His breathing was slightly ragged, but nothing compared to my own gasps for air, “And that was only the first setting.” My head flew up. ‘What? It gets worse than that?! Can you die from too many orgasms?’

Tom smirked at my terrorized expression.

“Come now, Charlotte, I know you’re curious to see what else this thing can do,” he coaxed, caressing the dip of my waist with his warm hand. I pouted slightly, knowing I was about to be coerced. Tom tsked.

“Are you going to be a brat, Charlotte? Or a good girl hmm? Brats get punished…”He murmured, laying a threatening palm over my arse and staring down at me intensely. “But good girls get lots of orgasms. Which will it be, pet? Either is enjoyable for me,” he added darkly, his nose almost brushing against mine.

As much as I (twistedly) enjoyed a bit of spanking, I really didn’t want to earn myself a proper punishment. I bit my lip, peering up at Tom through my lashes. ‘Death by orgasm it is then.’

“Good. I’ll be good, Tom,” I said, softly.

Tom grinned and flicked the vibe back to life; he twisted a demanding hand in the roots of my hair, pulling my head back and ravaging my neck with the intent of leaving marks. The proximity of his chest rubbed the butterfly clamps, and I groaned in a combination of pain and pleasure as Tom directed the vibrator to slide down over my sensitive clit, my walls clenching in anticipation of being filled. The thick head of the vibrator nudged at my entrance, gathering enough lubrication before teasingly dipping in and out, only shallowly hinting at entering me.

I whimpered loudly, beseechingly, and Tom nipped at the hollow of my throat, his breathes coming hard and fast; he was telling me to wait, to be patient, but I was frankly past that point. I wriggled my hips, determinedly trying to coerce him into giving me what I wanted. His hand left my hair, swooping down to land a resounding smack on my arse; I cried out in protest, and he chose that moment to push the vibe inside me in a firm thrust. My eyes slid shut with the delicious feeling of being so full, the vibrations humming pleasurably deep inside me. I should have known that so sedate a pace wouldn’t interest Tom.

He began carefully fucking me with the toy, taking it slowly, manipulating the silicon body and playing with the different vibration sequences patiently until he found a deadly combination that made me lose control of both my vocal cords and my facial muscles.

“No…m-more!”

“More?” Tom asked, grinning fiendishly and flicking the power up a notch.

I quivered at the onset of another orgasm, somehow deeper and heavier than the clitoral-stimulus one preceding it. Once Tom had discovered the ruination of me, he declined to waste time with the usual ‘begging’ routine.

“Come, Charlotte. Feel the pleasure that I’m giving you…feel it in the tips of your fingers, your toes…feel it spread through every part of your glorious body…let it take you…” he coaxed, his voice like dark, rich honey as it filtered into my ears.

I came again, screaming to the high heavens as I contracted around the source of my pleasure. The muscles in my arms and legs spasmed, and I wobbled so severely that I no doubt would have fallen without Tom’s support.

My mind floated back to find Tom staring down at me with an intense, shadowed gaze, his pupils dilated with barely controlled hunger.

"You look beautiful like that, Charlotte," he breathed, with the intonation of one speaking in an empty chapel. He cupped the side of my neck, running his thumb over my bottom lip as my mouth hung open, half from shock and half from what felt like a severe shortage of oxygen. "Your head thrown back, your whole body shuddering with pleasure." Now, it was his turn.

“Tom…will you please- will you fuck me?” I asked prettily, eager to pay him back a little. He bared his teeth in a grin, reaching down to unzip his suit trousers.

“Darling, I thought you’d never ask,” he growled, hooking my right leg over his hip and entering me with one smooth thrust. My throat grated slightly as I moaned for the umpteenth time; the vibrator had felt amazing, but it couldn’t compete with the real thing, hot, heavy and pulsing inside me.

Tom’s jaw jarred and tensed as he began fucking me, starting off slowly until he was sure he could maintain both our balance and gradually notching up to full throttle, his hips snapping against me with nearly vicious speed. I tipped my head back, crying shrilly each time he bumped against my g-spot, his long fingers digging into my thigh as he adjusted my leg to allow for maximum thrust capacity.

The ominous sound of buzzing sent me flying down abruptly from my mind palace of ecstasy. I looked down, watching in horror as Tom’s hand guided the vibrator down to where we were rhythmically meeting.

“Shall we try for another?” he rasped, his eyes glinting mischievously as they caught mine.

“N-no! I can’t!” I replied, desperately.

“Oh, I think you can manage one more for me, love. I need to feel you- need to feel your cunt clamping down around my cock. Will you do that for me, Charlotte?”

Well, when he put it like that, what was I supposed to say?

Tom took my temporary silence as acquiescence, and pressed the well-used vibe against my equally well-used clit. About five seconds later, I came for the third time, my entire body feeling almost warm and lethargic in its pleasure.

Tom followed me a beat later, his face tensing and breath stuttering as he reached his climax, his hips gradually coming to a halt as he emptied inside me. He shut off the vibe, resting his damp forehead against mine for several moments as we regained ourselves after the Orgasm Olympics.

“Wow, that was…something else,” I croaked, unable to adequately put the experience into words. I felt unbelievably sated and tired; I wanted to crawl into bed and sleep for four weeks straight.

“So, how do you feel now? Less stressed?” he enquired, smiling slightly as he reached up to untie me.

“Boneless. And like I’ve spent about three straight hours at the gym.” I winced as he deftly removed the pretty clamps from my swollen nipples, gasping with tired delight when he leant down to lovingly lick and soothe each one.

“I promised that I’d help you relax, didn’t I?”

“Never mind relaxed, you very nearly killed me!” I grumbled, trying to coax the blood back into my fingers. Tom caught my hands, taking over with the massage.

“Well, in literature, orgasm is traditionally likened to a kind of ‘mini’ death.”

“Alright, Professor Hiddleston.” He grinned and, contented that my hands were in working order, decided to finally fully undress as I headed to the beckoning oasis of his bed.

“Charlotte?” I snuggled under the sheets, peeping over the duvet to watch him take off his shirt.

“Yes, Tom?”

“Once you’ve finished your last exam, I plan to spend the whole summer giving you dozens of miniature deaths.”

‘Death by orgasms all summer long. Who needs a beach holiday?’


	16. Chapter 16

“Paris?” I exclaimed, my voice catching with surprise. We were ensconced in Tom’s bed- or should I say, our bed, considering how many nights I had spent in it of late. “You want to take me to Paris?”

“Yes. You’ve never been, and June is the perfect time to see it- all the benefits of summer weather, and hardly any tourists. What do you say?” He looked down at me.

‘What do I say? There’s really only one answer when a man wants to whisk you off to the city of love.’

“I would love to go to Paris with you…” Tom smiled “…but I’m afraid to leave my Nana right now. I know London is hardly any closer than Paris, but if we went away, I’d be scared of something happening to her. I wouldn’t enjoy myself for worrying.”

Tom’s eyes flickered with disappointment, and I felt guilt constrict around my stomach.

“I’m sorry, Tom. It’s a lovely surprise, but I really can’t. Not now,” I explained softly, kissing the side of his neck. He shook his head, a little dismissively.

“I understand. I wasn’t thinking properly. I apologise,” he said, sitting up and leaning against the headboard. I bit my lip, and sat up too, leaving a space between us.

“Tom? Really, thank you. You’re far too generous and thoughtful. And I would seriously love to go to Paris, but I can’t be selfish; my Nana really needs me.” I watched his expression carefully, trying to check whether my words had had a positive effect; his face was carefully controlled, as always. I didn’t really know what he was thinking. He looked over at me, and I smiled uncertainly. He frowned.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, reaching for my hand.

I blinked at him in confusion. “I’ve upset you, I didn’t mean to-”

He leaned forward, kissing my palm. “Charlotte, Charlotte. You haven’t upset me. Of course, I was looking forward to us going to Paris, but there’s no hurry - the city isn’t going anywhere. You’re absolutely right, your grandmother comes first. I’m only annoyed at myself for not considering it beforehand.”

“Oh. Uh, that’s alright. Nana’s my worry, not yours.” I smiled, cuddling up against him, pressing my lips onto the hollow of his throat.

“If something worries you, it’s of concern to me, Charlotte,” Tom said softly. I kissed him again, overcome.

“You are very loyal to your grandmother, I admire that in you,” he continued, pensively.

“Well, family’s the most important thing in the world. And she’s my whole family.”

Tom slid down again, until we were lying flat on the bed. I crossed my leg over his, pressing up against his warm skin and laying my hand across his sternum, feeling the faint thrum of his heart at my fingertips.

“Do you want to have children?” Tom asked, suddenly. I was rendered speechless, momentarily, before realising that he meant ‘do you wish to have children at some point in the future?’ as opposed to, ‘shall we make a baby right now?’ He was staring determinedly up at the ceiling.

My voice wavered slightly when I replied. “Umm…at some point…yes. I suppose that’s always been the plan- get married, have a few kids…but, I don’t know, being a doctor is so hard, so time-consuming. I don’t know if I’ll ever find someone who would put up with it and be willing to look after children, too.” I blushed, worrying that I sounded like a right dolt. “But, I mean, I’m too young to be thinking about all of that now. I can barely take care of myself!” I added gaily, trying to lighten the mood.

Tom didn’t reply; his only indication of having heard me was the way he worried his bottom lip with his teeth.

I traced circles along his ribcage. “So…what about you? Do you… ever think of having kids?” I held my breath, afraid to hear his answer. I knew it was silly- our relationship, whatever the hell it was, didn’t seem one that was conductive to the ‘where is this going, long term?’ conversation.

Tom snorted with derisive laughter. “I’m not suited to being a father, Charlotte. It just isn’t me.” His eyes slid to mine, gauging my reaction. I tried not to look crestfallen; I had known what his answer would be…and besides, we were never going to be anything serious, cemented. I knew that. So really, why was I a little bit disappointed?

I looked away, gathering myself.

“I think you might surprise yourself, Tom. You’re kinder than you know,” I whispered, kissing his brow. He stared up at me, wide-eyed, blinking like an animal stuck in the headlights. ‘Great, now he thinks I’m a crazy lady who wants babies right now, this very instant.’

I lay back down beside him, staring at the same patch of ceiling as I cast around for a new topic of conversation. Tom beat me to it.

“If you want to stay close to your grandmother, perhaps we could take a trip to the South West? I haven’t been to Glastonbury in years,” he suggested, his tone belying a slight wariness.

“That sounds amazing! When will we go?” I asked, brimming with enthusiasm. Not only was I going to get a holiday with Tom, but we’d be nice and close to Nana, too.

“Does next Friday suit?” he enquired, kissing my forehead. I was pleased to see him smiling again.

“Yep, I’m free as a bird.”

“Friday it is, then.”

*

“Tom, why are we stopping here?” I enquired, peering out the window. There was nothing around, only fields and fields of gold, stretching as far as the eye could see. According to Google Maps, we were only minutes away from the cute little farm B&B we would be staying at for the next few days.

“I need a break from driving,” Tom answered, shutting off the engine. He hooked his Raybans in the front of his shirt, pressing thumb and forefinger into his tired eyes. I felt that we would have been better served stopping at a village, or even a petrol station, as opposed to a dusty lane in the back-arse of nowhere.

“Uh, okay.”

“I’m tense from being on the motorway for so long…” He creaked his neck, rolling his shoulders and massaging his tired muscles.

“Can I help?” I smiled, shyly (or was it slyly?), unbuckling my seatbelt and leaning across the console. I slid my hand under the open collar of his shirt, pressing my thumb into the tense trapezious muscle.

“Mmm…that is nice. But I actually had something else in mind,” Tom purred, lifting my hand from his shoulder and kissing it, before opening the driver’s door. I waited as he circled round, opening my door and gallantly helping me out. The evening air was pleasantly warm, barely a breeze stirring the trees. The sky was like late summer moving into autumn; the bright blue interspersed with wispy clouds that were the ripening colour of candy floss, wafting out from the slowly setting sun.

“The sky’s really pretty,” I mused, admiring the dappled pattern of the clouds. Tom smiled and turned me towards him, tipping my head back and hovering his lips millimetres from mine. I could see the little scar by his cupid’s bow, and the faint freckles dappling the slightly crooked bridge of his nose in high definition. ‘Oh god, why are you so gorgeous?’

“Not half as pretty as you,” he murmured, pressing his lips against mine the instant I attempted to argue. His hand splayed on my back pulled us closer, and I slid my hands up the back of his neck, feeling the short hairs crunch beneath my fingers. I could taste the coffee and chocolate he had had at the tiny village teashop a few miles back, and the freshness of the polo mints we had shared.

His hands snuck lower and lower, until they dipped beneath the hem of my dress, stroking the backs of my thighs. Then they rose in unison, following the dips and curves of my flesh until they cupped my arse completely. I moaned against Tom’s lips, pressing harder against the noticeable bulge prodding my stomach.

Tom’s hands skittered around for a moment, as if searching for something. He pulled away and stared down at me, one eyebrow raised in question.

“This dress is really see-through…” I explained blushingly, attempting to justify my lack of knickers.

“You’re saying that I’ve been driving around all day, completely unaware that you were sitting beside me, totally bare?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly.

I bit my lip and nodded.

“Well, I didn’t want to distract you from driving.”

“Darling, your hot cunt clamping around my fingers would have been a welcome distraction,” he drawled, tracing his lips over my stuttering jugular. I gasped as he hitched my dress up around my waist and lifted me onto the cool metal of the bonnet. ‘Shit, are we doing this al fresco?’

With a palm firmly placed on my inner thigh, Tom held one of my legs splayed outwards, his other hand making a beeline for my core. I moaned, throwing my head back when the pads of his fingers centred on my clit, coaxing it out of hiding with slow manipulations.

‘Affirmative. We are doing this al fresco.’

I leant back on my elbows, seeking some purchase against the slick metal as Tom’s fingers began fucking me with a determined rhythm. He took the open invitation, leaning down to place wet, open-mouthed kisses in a cross-formation down my throat, across my collarbones and down to the deep ‘V’ of my sundress.

I twisted my fingers through his hair and arched my back a little further, offering myself to him. The tip of his nose traced outwards, and I whimpered as he engulfed my nipple in his mouth, his tongue rubbing the cotton fabric roughly against the sensitive bud. I shuddered and ground against his hand, my hips bucking up to match the tempered rhythm of his thrusts. He turned his attention to my other nipple, laving and biting it through the sheer fabric.

“Ah ah! Tom, can I-?”

“No, not yet.”

“Please,” I whined. He bit my nipple a little harder, making me yelp and try to move away.

“I said no,” he growled, his fingers digging into my thigh even harder, to hold me still. I groaned, gritting my teeth and staring up at the clouds, trying to distract myself. My ability to control when I orgasmed left a lot to be desired, but I didn’t want to get in trouble on the first day of our trip- we still had a fair bit of driving to do, and I didn’t fancy spending them sitting gingerly in the passenger seat. I could feel the hot wetness steadily trickling out of me; coating Tom’s fingers, and slowly dripping down onto the car bonnet.

“Do you want my cock?” he asked, gruffly, towering over me. My eyes flickered back to him, but I continued to chant in my head: ‘don’t come…don’t come…don’t come…’

Tom’s fingers twisted inside me when I failed to respond, rubbing determinedly against my g-spot until I almost forgot he had even asked a question. My walls began to flutter, signalling impending orgasm.

“Tom…ah! Yes! Yes!”

I breathed a sigh of relief when his fingers retreated, giving me a short reprieve as he unbuckled his belt. I bit my lip at the metallic sound of his zipper, counting the milliseconds until I would have him.

“Say it,” Tom whispered, his breath ruffling the short hairs at my temple. His deep blue eyes snared mine, the huge pupils drinking me in. He planted his hands on either side of me, his whole body arching towards mine, the tip of his cock nudging between my folds with the unconscious little movements of his eager hips.

I snaked my arms around his neck, pressing my palms against the warm, taut muscles on his back. I tilted my head until our lips grazed, and replied: “I want you.”

Tom gritted his teeth and pressed forward, sliding into me at an agonizing pace that allowed me to feel every ridge of his cock as it filled me. I hooked my leg over his lower back, tilting my pelvis and allowing him to move so deep that I could barely tell where he ended and I began.

“Fuck me, please, Tom,” I begged, breathlessly, as he kissed the sensitive spot beneath my jaw. He rolled his hips in response to my plea, brushing against areas that made me moan and shiver. I could feel my orgasm building again, and the desperation rose within me in direct correspondence to my arousal.

Tom pulled back, almost leaving me entirely, before surging forwards with a sharp snap of his hips, accidentally scooting me farther up the bonnet with his strength. He hooked his hands under my thighs, stretching me further open and holding me tightly in place as his rhythm began to gain speed.

“Like this?” He whispered darkly, determinedly hitting the same toe-curling point with every powerful thrust.

“Ah! Yes, Tom!”

“Fuck! Now, Charlotte, come…”

I relaxed entirely, letting the wave wash up and engulf me at last. Loud cries erupted from my mouth, sending startled Starlings flying over the treetops. Tom grunted, his whole frame shuddering with effort as my orgasm set off his own. I always loved seeing his ‘o’ face, that fleeting expression of pure, uninhibited pleasure that erased the usual sharp control he had over his features; I felt like it was all mine, that particular facet of Tom.

The air tore itself from my lungs as I lay, immobilised, still entangled with Tom’s warm body. I stared dazedly at the sky, tittering slightly as I imagined the picture we were in that very moment: me lying on the Jag’s bonnet, half-naked and thoroughly fucked, and Tom, smartly-dressed, lying on me as the warm, amber glow of the sunset washed over us. A sight for any farmer’s sore eyes.

Tom pulled himself upright, pressing a warm, slow kiss to my lips. I whined when he moved away, re-assembling his clothes. He smiled, lifting me off the bonnet and setting me onto my shaking legs.

“That was glorious. Although, I’m regretting that I didn’t bring that vibrator with us. I’d love to see you coming over and over like a mad woman on top of my car,” Tom mused, his eyes glittering with mischief. I winced at the mere memory, adjusting my dress to cover my legs.

“Uh, no thanks. I’m still recovering from the last time.” I dusted myself down, fixing my hair and checking that everything was a-okay. I glanced down, grimacing as I noticed two very noticeable damp patches on my nipples - white dresses are a nightmare.

“Come on, love. I’m starved after that, let’s drop our things off and head out for dinner,” Tom said, guiding me back to the passenger seat.

Google maps had been right; it took us only four minutes to arrive at the house. It was gorgeous, a large white stone cottage, with wildflowers and roses mingling on the walls.

I stepped out of the car, admiring the picturesque view as Tom collected our bags from the boot.

“Oh my god!” I gasped.

Tom hurried towards me, dropping the bags in the gravel.

“What’s wrong?”

“There’s a print of my arse on the bonnet,” I exclaimed with horror, gesturing at the offending smudges on the Jag’s dark paintwork.

Tom just laughed. “No complaints here.”

“Oh my god! I can see your handprints, too!” I hissed, crouching down to inspect just how awful it looked from different angles; if viewed in just the right way, in the right light, people would definitely know what we’d been up to. Classy car and not-so classy owners.

“Relax, no one knows us out here,” Tom chuckled, putting his arm around my shoulder and guiding me towards the front door of the B&B.

“Uh, our hosts will know us. So, while we’re here, I think we should keep the kinky business to a minimum. Agreed?” I suggested, peering up at him imploringly. Rattling the headboards at three in the morning was fine by me…just not when other people were around to hear it.

“Not agreed,” he retorted. I stopped dead.

“Tom, I’m serious! I’m not okay with doing crazy stuff while we’re guests in someone’s house. It’s…icky.”

“Icky?” Tom’s judgy right eyebrow made an appearance over the rim of his sunglasses.

“Yes.”

“Charlotte…” He took off his Raybans and fixed me with a steady gaze, “We most certainly will be getting up to ‘kinky business’, as you so eloquently put it, given that we are on holiday, and as such, we are supposed to enjoy ourselves.”

I sighed, reluctantly accepting defeat.

“Besides, I have a fun game or two in mind that I know you’re going to love, darling,” he purred, nuzzling my ear in a way that made me shudder- in spite of a leg-liquefying orgasm just five minutes prior.

“Oh god. I hope these poor people know what they’re in for,” I muttered, staring up at the quaint cottage.

“I talked to them on the phone last week. They seem very pleasant- elderly couple, deeply religious…if I recall the guest room is right above their bedroom-”

“What?!”

“Oh, Charlotte. You are so fun to toy with,” Tom smirked, laughing at my appalled expression. “We will be staying in a converted barn that is at least a hundred yards from the main house, and I’d be willing to bet, is all but sound-proof.”

“You’re horrid,” I griped, pouting as he laughed even more.

“But you love me anyway,” he teased, picking up the hold-all and slinging it over his shoulder.

Yeah…


	17. Chapter 17

Our remaining days in Glastonbury were spent acting like the biggest tourists out- walking up the Tor, perusing the market stalls on Tuesday morning, nosing about in the old churches and frequenting almost every glorious coffee shop on the main street, not to mention checking out what the town had to offer in the way of shops.

It’s a stereotype that the population of Glastonbury (and its visitors) are more than a little fey, but judging from the multitude of quaint little shops selling crystals, herbs, and scores of books about meditating and ‘auras’, I began to suspect that the stereotype had fulfilled itself.

I don’t put any stock in things like crystals or ‘tantric’ healing, but I certainly appreciated the craftsmanship behind the intricate jewellery that many of the stores stocked- namely silver and raw gold paired with some sort of ‘healing’ crystal.

Tom, even more impatient with the alternate beliefs held by the shop-keepers than me, had declared that he would buy me any piece of jewellery I wanted- if only it meant that I would never more drag him into a place where someone offered to check his ‘chakra’.

Laughing at his desperate bargain, I had perused the shelves of the tiny shop with far more interest, trying to select a piece I would like.

“Do you need any help?” enquired a woman with a chic silver pixie-cut.

“Oh, I was just looking, thanks,” I replied, politely. Tom was standing by the door, peering wistfully outside.

“Are you interested in any gemstone in particular?” she asked, smiling kindly.

“Eh, no. I don’t really know much about them. But…I like this one,” I said, gesturing to a delicate silver bracelet studded with chunks of smokey green.

“Jade, an excellent choice.” The woman produced a key, opening up the glass cabinet. “Would you like to try it on?”

I nodded, extending my wrist. Tom had moved to stand behind me, no doubt interested to see what I had chosen. The stones glinted in the light, each one a slightly different hue from its siblings.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it, Tom?” I enquired, holding the bracelet up for closer inspection.

He grasped my hand and kissed the back of it. “Almost as beautiful as the wearer.”

The shop assistant smiled at us while I blushed. “I see this is the perfect bracelet for you. Jade is the ‘fidelity stone’, connected with love and virtue- it’s believed to help balance the self and the partner, strengthening relationships,” she explained. I could practically hear Tom attempting not to roll his eyes behind me, but the lady’s description of the stone had made me want the bracelet even more. Not that I really believed that a few gems could have any sway over Tom and my relationship, but still.

I turned my head to peer up at Tom, silently asking if I could have it. He nodded infinitesimally, his eyes appearing troubled for a split second before they corrected themselves in to a generous smile.

“We’ll take it,” he said.

*

The games began, officially, on our last night in Glastonbury. I was honestly surprised that Tom had waited so long, but the anticipation that he may at any moment drag me off the beaten tourist path to have his naughty way with me certainly kept me on my toes.

After we had returned from dinner, Tom decided that he would pay what he owed to Mr and Mrs Greyson (who were not as old or as religious as Tom had cruelly joked), rather than disturb them when we set off in the morning.

I chucked my handbag onto the sofa, kicking off my heels in anticipation of a chilled night of X-Factor and perhaps even a modest glass of wine.

Thankfully, Tom had other plans- far more exciting than my own.

He crept up behind me, banding his arms around my waist. I instantly leant into the comforting warmth of his body. I could feel the deep thrum of his voice as he issued my instructions in that dark, gravelly tone that always made my stomach swoop with fearful excitement.

“Go upstairs. In the zip pocket of my holdall, there is a blindfold. Put it on and wait on your hands and knees on the bed.”

He released me and I turned to leave, but he reconsidered, pulling me back and dipping his mouth to my ear. “Naked. I will not be long.”

I bounded up the stairs on wobbly legs, hurriedly plucking the jewellery from my throat and wrists and carefully replacing it in a little velvet pouch. I twisted in front of the mirror, my fingers clawing to undo the long row of tiny buttons trailing down my spine. It seemed a shame to take off my matching underwear set (one of the few I owned- and rarely coordinated), but I knew that Tom wouldn’t take kindly to me amending his strict instructions.

I crawled onto the bed, centring myself and facing the headboard.

‘Shit! The blindfold!’ I cast around for Tom’s bag, finding it tucked away in the wardrobe. Rooting around in the pockets, my fingers brushed against satiny fabric and I plucked out the mask, leaping back onto the bed and tying it tightly over my eyes not a split second before the front door slammed shut.

I blindly stretched my hands out before me, spreading them wide enough to enable a comfortable balance as I positioned myself just how Tom wanted.

Then, I waited.

I heard the creak of the floorboards as he came upstairs, and I mentally steeled myself. A slight draught skittered over the backs of my legs as he entered the room, my upturned ass the first thing to greet him as he walked through the door. I expected him to come over to me at once, or to, at the very least, speak to me. But he did neither. My ears pricked, listening as he walked over towards the window, a quiet creak of leather telling me that he had taken a seat in the plush armchair. ‘Um, what are you up to?’ Sensing a test of obedience, I resolved not to move a muscle, nor utter a single syllable before he gave me permission to do so.

I strained my ears, utilising the only useful sense left to me. I could hear the deep, slow sound of Tom’s breathing, the thud of my own heartbeat…and a strange, quiet clinking noise that I couldn’t quite place. I listened harder- the noise wasn’t constant, happening only erratically. It sounded a bit like ice clinking against glass. ‘Surely not!’ The longer I listened, the more I became convinced that that sadistic bastard was indulging in a night cap while I knelt on the bed for his viewing pleasure.

I bit my lip, holding back the indignant snarks that came to mind. The glass clinked again and then Tom was on his feet, padding towards me. My skin fizzed with anticipation, trying to guess where he would touch me first.

I shivered all over as his knuckles ghosted along the line of my spine, sliding down to trace the curve of my ass, his open palm cupping the point where thigh and butt met.

“Beautiful, my Charlotte…your willing submission to me is exquisite,” he purred, the very tips of his long fingers pressing deliciously close to my centre. I smiled, revelling in the little tingle of pride I always got whenever I pleased Tom. His hand didn’t settle for long, smoothing down the backs of my legs and tickling the exposed underside of my foot as he moved away again.

I turned my head to the side, trying to pick up on what he was doing. The wardrobe door opened, followed by miscellaneous rustling, and then it closed again.

A disembodied hand clasped around my ankle and I jumped, squeaking quietly.

“Roll onto your back, love,” Tom instructed, his voice tinged with faint amusement at my jumpiness.

I did as commanded, not flinching in the slightest as what felt very like a tie was knotted around my ankle and fastened to the footboard. Oh yes, I knew this game well- and it had become one of my absolute favourites.

Ankles secured, Tom bound my wrists together and stretched them above my head, another tie fixing me in place. I shifted experimentally, unsurprised by how restricted my movements were.

I sensed that Tom had drifted away again, and although I couldn’t see quite what he was up to, the faint clink of ice on glass told me that he was taking another sip of whiskey. I waited, patient and unmoving, hands bound to the headboard and legs spread, trying to anticipate what Tom’s ‘game’ would be. I sincerely doubted that his only intention was to tie me to the bed and fuck me- we had done that before, and he had promised me ‘new’ games, after all.

I started when a cold droplet of water landed on my mouth, followed by several more in quick succession. I licked my lips, able to faintly taste Tom’s whiskey in the little droplets, but still none the wiser to his game.

“Have you ever heard of temperature play before, Charlotte?” Tom enquired, with faux-innocence.

“Yes.” I definitely recalled reading a Cosmo article that advocated the merits of getting a man off while alternating between ice water and hot tea- honestly, it sounded like a recipe for disaster… and sensitive teeth.

I inhaled sharply as a chunk of ice was pressed against my lips, almost burning with coldness. It didn’t linger long, hugging the curve of my chin as it headed southbound.

My inability to see ramped up my sense of touch, and every slick of ice on skin made me shiver. The ice skated down the curve of my neck, right over my hammering jugular, then swooped lower and dipped into the hollows of my collarbone.

I attempted to brace myself as the ice made a beeline for my chest, but I still wasn’t prepared when Tom’s nimble fingers guided the slippery cube to circle around my peaked nipple. I twisted and squirmed, trying to escape from the harsh sensation of the ice tempering my hot skin. Water ran in rivulets across my chest as Tom patiently tormented each of my nipples in turn, sending volts of lust through my whole body.

I whined as his lips closed around a swollen peak, coaxing it with the rough texture of his tongue and nipping with his teeth as I arched towards him. His tongue ceased laving my nipple and flipped, unexpectedly pressing a sliver of ice against it while he hollowed his cheeks, sucking hard. My eyes rolled behind the mask, my mouth dropping open at the overwhelming sensations.

“Ugh! T-Tom!”

“Ah, there we are. I thought you’d lost the ability to speak, Charlotte,” Tom taunted, pressing a chaste kiss to my tingling nipple.

“Almost,” I replied, through gritted teeth.

My breath hitched as an inquisitive hand trailed down my abdomen, straight for my core.

“Mmm you’re enjoying this, Charlotte,” Tom purred contentedly, stroking his fingers through my wet, swollen folds.

“Ah! Yes, Tom,” I gasped, my hips bucking of their own volition.

“Mmm, there seems to be a bit of swelling down here. Perhaps we should move the ice a bit lower- what do you think?” he teased, already beginning to press the ice beneath the swell of my breast, over my shuddering ribs towards my navel. My skin erupted in goosebumps as he trailed the ice in wide zig-zags down my stomach, pausing only to press his tongue into my belly button, lapping up the water that had gathered there.

‘He can’t seriously mean to put the ice “down-there”? Right? I’d probably faint from the sheer shock!’ But, contrary to my inner assertions, Tom did indeed intend to put the ice ‘down there’.

A shriek tore from the back of my throat when he teasingly brushed the ice against my swollen clit, every muscle in my body tensing in response to the delicious sting that the cold caused against my fiery flesh. I rolled my hips, unsure of whether I was trying to get away from the ice or closer to it.

“Tom, n-no! Ah! It’s t-too cold!” I whined, arching my back and trying to move away, but to no avail; Tom simply held my hips down with his forearm, continuing to caress my clit with frozen kisses.

Just as I thought my nether-regions would become numb with cold, Tom replaced the ice cube with the searing warmth of his mouth, sucking and licking with admirable determination, despite the fact that I was bucking like a bronco beneath him.

The mixture of hot and cold had been dynamite on my chest, but between my legs, I started to lose the ability to think straight. My protests dwindled to guttural moans and desperate whimpers as Tom continually pushed me to the edge with his talented tongue, before cruelly swapping back to the cold burn of the ice, which melted and added to the already abundant wetness down there.

I sighed with a combination of misery and relief as what remained of the second ice cube slithered back up my abdomen, melting into oblivion in the valley between my breasts.

“Oh baby, you’re burning up,” Tom crooned, a soft clink informing me that he was retrieving another piece of ice from the tumbler. ‘Where in the name of fuck is he going to put it now?!’

The ice cube traced the outline of my lips, pressing into the centre.

“Suck,” Tom commanded, shifting to straddle my middle. I parted my lips, careful to keep the stinging cold lump away from my sensitive teeth. As the ice cube rapidly melted, I sensed Tom moving above me, coming to kneel over my chest. He tossed the remaining slither away, inquisitively touching my numbed lips with his fingertips, before pressing the hot, wet head of his cock into the chilled cavern of my mouth.

“Suck,” he repeated, his voice contorted by gritted teeth.

Tom had evidently been enjoying our game just as much as me; when my tongue curled around the head of his cock, I tasted the sharp, salty flavour of pre-cum.

Tom brushed escaped strands of hair off my sticky forehead as I surged forward, engulfing as much of his length as possible (without triggering my stupid gag-reflex again) and sealing my lips tightly, allowing him to thrust at his own pace while my tongue wriggled against the veins on the underside.

“Fuck, yes. Charlotte, your mouth…is like…a paradise,” he groaned, his hips beginning to buck erratically. I kept sucking, unsure whether he intended to spill in my mouth; it had been a while since I’d swallowed cum, but I rather liked the idea of tasting the evidence of my ability to drive Tom absolutely wild.

Alas, it was not to be.

Tom withdrew from my mouth, the mattress springing up as he shifted off the bed. I almost begged him not to leave me, but I heard the rustle of clothes and –correctly- assumed that he was undressing himself.

‘Fucking finally!’

Before I knew it, he was straddling me again, his hands lifting my head and undoing the ties of the blindfold. I smiled when he removed it, drinking in the sight of his pretty, flushed face and wild, wide eyes.

He stared at me for a frozen moment, and then his lips collided with mine in a bruising kiss as his fingers did a cursory check to see that I was sufficiently ready for him- he needn’t have bothered, I was 100% sure I was leaking onto the duvet by that point.

“You want me to fuck you, Charlotte? You want my cock inside you?” he growled, his dark words skipping over my lips in laboured breathes as he stretched out and positioned himself at my welcoming entrance.

“Yes, so much…please, Tom,” I whined, ever ready to play the part if it meant I got what I so desperately wanted.

Tom bared his teeth in a feral grin, brushing the head of his cock up and down my slit, purposefully pressing against my tender clit. I jumped slightly when he slid lower, for a split second grazing dangerously close to my back entrance, before finally I felt that delicious bubble of pressure as he entered me, my walls stretching and fluttering to accommodate his broad girth. ‘Unf, this is definitely my favourite part, holy fuck!…’

He rolled his hips, drawing circle-of-eights and slowly shifting in and out, a rhythm that implied we had all the time in the world. It always surprised when Tom went so slowly; to me, being tied up had always implied that rough, animalistic fucking would follow as default, but the expression on Tom’s face- eyes shut, teeth nipping lips- showed a man who was savouring the experience.

Never let it be said that I’m not an advocate for savouring the finer things, but after being teased for so damn long, that mindless animal fucking was sounding like a mighty fine idea.

“Tom, please…faster…harder, I want to feel you…” I begged, twisting my hips to a higher (and more enjoyable) angle.

Tom’s eyes shifted from relaxed bliss to ferocity in 0.06 seconds. His hands gripped almost cruelly against my hips, fingers digging into flesh, his hips suddenly colliding with mine as if they were in a race. I was so close to the finish line.

“Like this?” he hissed, teeth on edge, grazing against my neck, my earlobe, my collarbone…everywhere at once.

“Oh y-yes! Ugh, I’m…c-close! ” I whined, throwing my head back and providing Tom with the perfect excuse to ravage my throat. His hips dipped lower, his pelvis brushing against my clit with every furious thrust.

Thankfully, the games were officially at an end.

“Come, Charlotte,” Tom coaxed, his voice like gravel coated in honey. His thumb snuck down to the point where our bodies were repeatedly joining, rubbing tight circles onto my clit as my back coiled beneath him.

I screamed. I mean, actually screamed, like the stereotypical female victim in a horror film. It was a wonder I didn’t smash the windows, with the amount of noise I was making.

Tom released a strangled groan, his eyes rolling in his head, his hips still rocking against me as he rode out the aftershocks of our shared orgasm. He kissed my sweaty sternum, languorously lifting himself off me to untie my restraints, while I lay there perfectly still, staring (unseeing) at the ceiling and feeling as boneless as a marshmallow.

“Did you enjoy that?” Tom enquired, grinning cheekily at me as he stretched out beside me, massaging my wrists.

I giggled breathlessly at the (sweet) absurdity of the question. “What gave me away? The begging, the screaming, or the orgasm?”

“Cheeky minx,” he growled, ‘attacking’ my neck with kisses.

I hesitated to say what was floating through my head, but it sort of burst out, anyway. My post-coital self isn’t my most controlled.

“For a second I thought you were going to try something very new,” I mused, noting the perplexed look on his face.

“Before you…uh, entered me, you seemed to move a bit…more southerly,” I explained, my voice laden with embarrassment. The sight of the words ‘anal play’ written in Tom’s beautiful handwriting was imprinted inside my mind, it seemed.

“Oh? Oh,” his eyes widened a bit with understanding, before he relaxed into a soft laugh, “I’m sorry if I frightened you, it was an accident. It was very slippery down there, you know.”

I blushed from my toes to my scalp. “I wasn’t…I wasn’t scared. Actually I…um didn’t mind the idea, as much as I thought I would,” I confessed, pressing my face against his ribcage to hide my expression. Tom’s fingers tangled in my hair, reassuringly massaging my scalp, but he didn’t say anything for what felt like an hour and a half.

“Charlotte… firstly, I would never attempt anal without a lot of preparation, and secondly, you indicated that you were uncomfortable with the very notion- I would never take advantage of you, not when you hand over your trust to me.”

I nodded, still hiding my face.

“Charlotte, look at me. You know that I would never do anything you didn’t want me to, don’t you? No matter how far in we get- if you say your safe word or you’ve stated that you are uncomfortable with something in advance, I wouldn’t even joke about doing it,” he said fiercely, his eyes fixed on mine to make sure that the point drove home.

“I know that, and I do trust you, but…I want to please you. I don’t want you to feel like you’re missing out, because I know that, if I had a specific fantasy or…thing I wanted to do, you wouldn’t deny me.”

“It is true that I would be loath to ever refuse your desires, but that doesn’t mean that you have to capitulate to one of mine, especially if you are uncertain. You do please me, Charlotte, consistently, on that point you needn’t fear,” Tom assured me, stroking the arch of my shoulder. His voice dipped lower. “Would I wish to engage in anal sex if you were comfortable? Yes. It’s fantastically intimate and thoroughly enjoyable –for both parties- when done right. But your confidence and comfort is of paramount importance to me, always.”

“I thought you wanted me to give you control, to push my boundaries.”

“I do, and you have, more than you realise. Think of all the new experiences you’ve had in the past few months. Things you wouldn’t have dreamed of doing, had I not demanded them of you. You are adapting marvellously, as I knew you would. But sometimes, people have boundaries that simply cannot be moved or avoided; there’s nothing wrong with that.”

I frowned, sorting through my thoughts. “When you gave me ‘The List’, I was convinced that I would never ever want you to do anything back there but…”

“But now? You are curious?” Tom supplied, coaxing a confession from my embarrassment.

“Yes,” I squeaked, surprising myself and blushing brilliantly. How ridiculous, to be so shy after all of the filthy things Tom and I had done together.

Tom laughed softly, prying my hand away from my face.

“Darling, I am delighted to hear it. And I would be absolutely delighted to sate your curiousity,” he growled, his lips tracing the shell of my ear. I shivered in his arms, suppressing a moan, even though my body protested at the thought of further strenuous activities.

“But maybe…maybe not right now,” I suggested, even as Tom continued to lavish kisses on the ticklish spot behind my ear.

“Ah, I see you are beginning to appreciate the merits of delayed gratification,” he teased, nipping my earlobe playfully before leaning back to switch off the bed-side lamp.

I got myself comfortable, tugging the duvet up around my back and laying my head in the crook of Tom’s shoulder.

“Charlotte?”

“Yes?”

“I have a small suggestion for our trip tomorrow.” The day before, we had spontaneously decided to extend our holiday and spend a few days on a blue-flag beach in South Devon, to make the most of the rare British summer sunshine.

“Oh. What is it?” I asked, suddenly anxious that urgent business needs were about to cut our holiday short.

“I realised that, on the way to Blackpool Sands, we’ll be passing very close to Chard.” I had realised that too, of course; Chard is right by the Devon-Somerset border- but I had rather hoped Tom would remain none the wiser. ‘I know where this is going…’

“Oh, yes. I suppose we will.”

“Would you like to call in with your grandmother?” Tom asked. I immediately tensed- did he mean for me to call in with Nana, or us?

“Um I don’t mind, really. It’s a bit of a diversion, isn’t it?” I fumbled, extremely grateful that the dark was hiding the horrified expression on my face as I imagined scenario B: ‘Oh hi, Nana! This is Tom, he’s my dom/sugar daddy! Yes, it’s just how it sounds, he’s paying me to be in a kinky sexual relationship with him…what do you mean you’re not proud of me?’

Tom shifted beside me. “Not really. Besides, we’re in no rush. We can take our sweet, leisurely time getting to the beach.”

“Uh yeah, I guess…um, can I sleep on it?” My voice sounded funny, even to my own ears.

Tom pulled me closer, his lips nuzzling my forehead.

“Charlotte, is something the matter?”

“No, Tom,” I lied. He wasn’t fooled.

“Right. So, you really don’t want to see your grandmother when we’re practically on her doorstep?” he asked, sceptically.

“It’s not that, it’s just uh…” ‘I’m embarrassed by our relationship? I don’t want her to meet you? Harsh much!’

“Ah. You haven’t told her about us,” Tom said, slowly, as if testing the concept on the tip of his tongue. He sounded slightly surprised, but it didn’t mask the subtle hurt in his tone. Poor Tom, thinking that I was too ashamed of him to even invent a PG gloss of our relationship to tell my Nana.

I squeezed my eyes shut as guilty tears swam to the surface.

“Tom, I’m sorry, really-”

“Charlotte, it’s alright. I understand that our relationship is…difficult for you to discuss with others, especially your grandmother. I wasn’t thinking.”

“Tom…” I whispered in a crackled voice, rolling over to kiss his chest, right above his heart.

“Still,” he continued, his voice suddenly more upbeat, “There’s no reason why you shouldn’t visit your grandmother. I can occupy myself in the town and collect you afterwards.”

‘I am officially the worst person in the universe.’ I should have told her before, removed the part about the money (and the dom/sub element, obviously) and introduced Tom as my perfectly normal boyfriend. ‘I mean, we are in a relationship- the best relationship I’ve ever been in, by miles. Yes, okay, the money issue is there, but it’s only in the background. I’d still be with him, even without it. Hell, I’d be happier without. Poorer, but happier.’

“Charlotte? What do you think? I can drop you off a street or so away from your grandmother’s house. She’ll be none the wiser.” Tom’s voice was completely devoid of bitterness; I couldn’t imagine I would be so magnanimous if the situation had been reversed.

“Yes, thank you for being so…wonderful, and understanding,” I murmured, leaning up in the dark to find his lips with my own.

Tom smiled against my mouth. “Anything for you, Charlotte.”

I lay down, curling against his side as my conscience battled with itself.

“Night, Tom,” I whispered to the darkness.

“Good night,” he replied, curling his arm tighter around me.

I shut my eyes, trying not to worry about tomorrow and the awkward meeting that awaited me.


	18. Chapter 18

Guilt is a horrible emotion. It’ll eat away at you until you can barely think straight. As we packed up and headed out of Glasto, the guilt-monster was clinging on my back; I felt guilty for offending Tom, but I also felt guilty about the prospect of having to spin yet more lies about our relationship in order to make it palatable to Nana. What could I do? Tom’s voice saying: “Ah. You haven’t told her about us,” played on a loop in my head as we drove towards Chard in companionable silence. Tom was always guarded with his emotions, and his inability to hide the disappointment in his voice told me just how much it had affected him, whether he would willingly admit it or no.

It had been happening so gradually, so stealthily, I never noticed. As time went by, I flinched and recoiled less when Tom made reference to us as ‘boyfriend and girlfriend’. The lines blurred so much, I could hardly make sense of it all. Our relationship had shifted, and with it my vision; I saw us in a different light. Upon my tearful return from my Nana’s, weeks before, it became blatantly clear that we had begun to broach a territory that was neither business nor sex.

I cared about Tom. I liked Tom. And he cared about me, too, though he may have shown it in unorthodox ways. Was he domineering? Yes. Was he possessive? Absolutely. Was he overbearing? Certainly. But all of these traits, irritating though they may have been at times, were little messages, whispered secrets that Tom passed to me, words he couldn’t say, feelings he couldn’t quite convey. I was blind in the present- only hindsight lets you see things like that with clarity.

*

I didn’t make my decision until the very last minute.

“Alright, I’ll collect you from here in…three hours, is that enough time?” Tom enquired, allowing the engine to idle after our relatively short trip. I gathered myself, smiling tremulously as I lifted Tom’s hand from the gearstick and pointed it towards a small house a few meters from where we sat.

“That’s my Nana’s house. My house.” Tom blinked slowly, his face registering surprise. He stared at the house for a moment, before turning to look at me with dawning comprehension.

“Charlotte, are you sure?”

“Yes.”

He squeezed my hand. “I don’t want you to feel pressurised. Truly, I don’t mind-”

“Tom. I really want you to meet my Nana,” I said, shyly, my cheeks tickling with a fresh blush. ‘Oh, so mushy!’

Tom simply smiled, kissing my knuckles and cutting the car engine. I slid surreptitiously out of the Jag, rather hoping that none of the neighbours were peeking out from behind their lacey curtains.

I led Tom up the narrow path to the house; I didn’t know how he was feeling, but I felt curiously like I was walking to my death- ever the drama queen. In fairness, asking him to meet my only real family member was a pretty big deal, which perhaps explained the butterflies attacking my stomach as I rapped the door. It opened an eternity later (no doubt Nana had misplaced her keys again).

“Surprise!” I exclaimed, my voice wavering with nerves. Nana’s shocked expression split into a delighted grin as she surged forwards, hugging me tightly around my middle.

“And what a lovely surprise it is! You should have called ahead, dear, I could have made you lunch-”

“Nana, Nana,” I interrupted her eager little spiel, laughing slightly at her attempts to, as always, feed me until I burst. “I want you to meet someone,” I said, tentatively, stepping aside and pulling Tom into the doorframe.

Nana’s eyes and eyebrows shot up, taking in the figure towering in her doorway; from my Nana’s below-five-feet perspective, Tom must have seemed a veritable giant. But he was a friendly giant, a confident, easy-going smile on his face as I made the introductions.

“Nana, this is Tom, my boyfriend. Tom, this is my Nana,” I explained, a little awkwardly.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs Green,” Tom said smoothly, taking Nana’s proffered hand and bowing to kiss the back of it, making her titter like a schoolgirl.

“Oh, Tom, please! Call me Edith. Mrs Green still reminds me of my mother-in-law, she was quite the-”

“Nana!” I hissed, feeling the need to defend my deceased great-grandma.

“Well, darling, she was a difficult woman, there’s no denying it. God rest her soul,” she added piously, hand over heart. “Come in, both of you! I’ll put on the kettle, and then Tom- I want you to tell me everything!” she declared, bustling off into the kitchen.

“Just remember- this was your idea,” I told him. He was in no way prepared for how nosey my Nana could be.

I led Tom into the living room, collapsing onto the squishy sofa, trying to control my fraying nerves. ‘It’s fine, it’s all going fine.’

“She’s some woman, your grandmother,” Tom mused with a curling smile, folding himself onto the seat beside me.

“She adores you. Already,” I remarked, tartly. Tom grinned mischievously.

“I can’t help being likable.”

“But you could help being an incorrigible flirt!” I whisper-shouted teasingly.

“I don’t know what you mean. I was merely being my naturally charming self,” he replied primly, his eyes roving all over the room, seeking out the multitude of photographs that adorned the walls and rickety little tables- namely of me, at varying ages of dorkiness. ‘Wonderful. Just what I need; Tom getting a good look at spot-and-brace-face Charlotte.”

Nana returned with her laden tea-tray, playing the obliging hostess, and she grilled Tom (as promised) with scalpel-like precision- in less than half an hour she nearly had more information dragged out of him than I had managed in over three months.

But then, then, the inevitable happened.

She got the photo album out, and I promptly wilted with embarrassment as she cooed over every picture of me from the age of one (a grainy Kodak that my mother must have taken in a more lucid moment) up to my last visit to her, a few weeks before (an admittedly sweet ‘selfie’ of us standing by the lake in a nearby woodland). I grimaced and groaned in protestation as we flicked through the embarrassing ‘teen years’, wishing to God I could wipe Tom’s mind clean; he smiled indulgently over my early years, then turned to prodding and teasing me when my dorky school portraits appeared.

“My my, what’s this?” he enquired, pointing with amusement at a photograph of me circa. 1999, dressed as a carrot.

“It was Halloween!” I protested, incensed by his laughter.

“Dare I ask: of all the available vegetables, why a carrot?”

“Oh, that was what Bertie used to call Charlotte- ‘his sweet little carrot’”, supplied my grandmother, saving me from attempting to talk around the lump in my throat. I set my teacup down on the side table, and excused myself, walking with forced sedateness upstairs to the bathroom.

I sat on the toilet, gripping my head in my hands and trying to get a grip on my emotions. It was hard being at home, reminded of Grandpa at every turn, but knowing that he wasn’t ever going to be walking in from tending the garden, or coming back from a short errand to the post office. He was everywhere and nowhere all at once.

There was a trio of gentle knocks on the door, followed by Tom’s soft voice.

“Charlotte, are you alright?”

I dabbed at my face with a tissue, but my eyes were already a glistening, reddish hue, so there was no question of hiding that I had been crying.

“I’m fine,” I lied, as soon as I opened the door. Tom frowned lightly.

“Don’t lie, Charlotte. Tell me what’s wrong,” he entreated quietly, reaching up to cup my face in his big warm hands, ensuring that I couldn’t look anywhere but right at him. His thumbs grazed my cheeks, catching traitorous tears.

“I miss my Grandpa. It’s weird being here… when he isn’t.”

I saw Tom’s eyes pool with sympathy, and my stomach squirmed with embarrassment.

“Really, I’m fine. I just get a bit teary sometimes,” I added, trying to shrug it off.

“Would a hug help?” Tom whispered, wrapping his arms tightly around me before I had even answered. I hugged him back, hard, pressing my cheek against the warmth of his chest and inhaling the comforting smell of his shirt. His breath tickled my scalp as he kissed my hair, his thumbs stroking absently at my sides where his hands gripped me tight. ‘Damn, he gives good hugs. He should bottle and sell these- he’d make billions.’

“You’re right, that really does help,” I murmured, my voice muffled from having my face pressed against his chest.

“Come on,” I said, reluctantly pulling myself out of his embrace. Tom looked slightly perturbed. “Nana will get worried if we just disappear!” I explained, nipping into my bedroom to reapply some concealer under my now puffy eyes.

Tom followed me, his eyes roving all around my tiny, pretty bedroom; he could scarcely have looked more out of place. I watched with amusement as he ducked under the slanted ceiling by the bed, narrowly avoiding scalping himself.

“It looks like one of those Cat Kitten shops,” he remarked. I stuck my tongue out at him, re-zipping my makeup bag.

“I like Cath Kidston.”

“I recognise this.” He nudged the wardrobe door open, revealing the mirror that I had used to send him a naughty picture of my derriere.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” I replied, coyly, perching on the bed. Tom’s eyes followed me, suddenly twinkling with mischief.

“And there’s where you were lying, getting yourself off just from the sound of my voice…” he purred, stalking towards me.

I unconsciously shifted back on the bed, giggling and blushing at his words.

“…writhing on the sheets, one hand down your knickers and the other holding the phone to your ear…”

“Tom!” I half-scolded, afraid my Nana might hear the dirty things he was recounting.

He stopped a few inches from the bed, sweeping his eyes across it from headboard to footboard, looking concerned.

“Ah, but there is an impediment,” he said, dramatically.

“To what, dare I ask?”

“Your bed is too small for the activities I have in mind,” Tom lamented, smirking fiendishly as he lunged towards me, pinning me down and nipping my neck.

“Tom, stop! She’ll –ah!- hear us, the walls are thi-in!”

He growled against my throat in response, pinning my wrists beside my head. My legs had automatically parted when he fell on top of me, and the weight of his body against mine was getting me severely flustered - to say nothing of how well I could feel Tom’s reaction to our silly antics.

“Tom,” I moaned softly, trying (but not really trying) to put a halt to the trail of kisses he was lavishing along the edge of my jaw, up to the corner of my mouth. He sighed, checked by my reticence to get it on.

“Later,” he promised, darkly, his eyes as heavy with desire as I was sure mine were. His fingers splayed, twining our hands together as he kissed me fully on the lips, taking his time to leave me breathless and longing for ‘later’.

I darted downstairs first, while Tom made use of the facilities; I had insisted that we shouldn’t go down together, just in case Nana had heard my bed springs creaking. Silly, I know, but I didn’t want her getting any ideas about us. Not that she would ever, in a million years, imagine the kinky fuckery we did get up to.

I had just joined Nana back on the sofa when someone rapped the front door. Nana checked her watch, letting out a little noise of surprise as she jumped up like a scalded cat.

“Oh dear, it’s twelve o’clock! I forgot about my book club meeting,” she fretted, quickly placing the photo albums back in their drawer.

Tom reappeared, informing us that someone was at the door and seemingly eager to get in.

“Oh, Nana, I’m sorry! We shouldn’t have just dropped in, I didn’t even think-”

“Don’t worry, dear. We usually just gossip and have a nip of sherry, very little scholarly debate goes on, I’m afraid!” She laughed, winking at Tom and hurrying to the front door.

“Oh God, I hope they don’t come in. Her little cronies are the worst,” I whispered, anxiously craning my neck to try and see who was on the porch.

“Charlotte,” Tom intoned, in a voice that I had become well accustomed to.

“Yes, Tom?”

“Relax. That’s an order,” he whispered lowly, placing a tender kiss on my forehead. Hard to be anxious after that.

“What’s this I hear of little Lottie bringing a man home?” trilled Mrs Jameson, gliding through the doors in all of her peachy-pink glory. Her smile froze as her eyes alighted on Tom, who was evidently not the sort of man she had been expecting.

“Simmer down, Eugenia. Where are your manners?” Nana scolded, darting around her tall friend.

“Hi, Mrs Jameson. This is Tom,” I supplied, through a tensed jaw. Tom’s thumb pressed against my palm as he extended a courteous smile, standing up to shake her hand. Mrs Jameson was also a widow, but she was almost fifteen years younger than my Nana, which may have explained the downright eye-fuck she swept over Tom from toe to top. ‘Christ almighty, there’s competition on every corner!’

Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it), another contingent of Nana’s book club arrived at that very moment, drawing Mrs Jameson’s attention away. Nana tactfully herded her friends into the kitchen, insisting that they all help with cutting the cakes and making another pot of tea.

“Oh well, at least we got to see Nana alone for a while,” I said quietly, watching the kitchen door in case a wild old lady appeared. “I think just one more cuppa, and then we can make our excuses.”

“We’ll leave whenever you want, Charlotte,” Tom assured me.

“Tom is the CEO of a legal firm in the City. He went to Eton and Cambridge, you know. Not just a handsome face…” Tom and I shook with silent laughter as my Nana bragged loudly to her friends over the hissing kettle.

“Look humble,” I whispered, as they filed back into the small room.

“It’s hard. My head is getting bigger with all of these compliments,” he retorted, smirking in that devilish way of his.

*

We stayed for almost another hour. Tom was dragged away by a band of admiring women, and, confident that he could cope, I took the opportunity to have a quiet chat with Nana.

“So, what brings you young people down here? No excitement in London?” she enquired mildly.

“We were in Glastonbury for a few days, and we’re heading down to Devon for a beach trip.”

“Oh Glastonbury is a lovely place, I remember your Grandfather and I heading to the market one morning, at the crack of dawn! I was almost too grumpy and sleep-deprived to appreciate it. That must have been…oh, thirty years ago? How time flies when you’re having fun- and life really is such fun, Charlotte,” she laughed, her eyes glazed with happy memories.

“Speaking of which, how have you been?” I asked, ever wary of upsetting her. She merely smiled serenely.

“Sometimes I’m a little forgetful, dear, but you know, I am old!”

‘Not that old,’ I thought, glumly, ‘You’re only seventy. Too young to be suffering like this.’

“I know, Nana, I just worry about you.” Her face crumpled anxiously, lines of concern creasing between her brows.

“Oh, Charlotte, don’t, please. There’s no need! I looked at Oaktree Hill last week, like you asked, and it’s a nice place, I grant you, but I don’t feel like it’s time for me to leave home,” she confessed, her voice wobbling as she cast a lingering glance around her cosy living room.

“I’ve lived here for almost fifty years. How can I leave now?” she mused, so quietly that I wasn’t sure the words were intended for me. My gut clenched with guilt- but what could I do? She’d soon be a danger to herself, if she didn’t get some sort of help- the doctor had been very clear: there is no cure for dementia, it will slowly eat away at her mind until she doesn’t know up from down. It was like a death sentence, an axe that could hit the block at any moment- tomorrow, next week, a year, ten years…

Nana turned to me, grinning impishly.

“Your Tom, oh Charlotte, he’s just lovely. So handsome, and such a gentleman!” I blushed, glancing over at Tom, who was in the process of pulling out a lady’s chair, causing all of Nana’s little cronies to titter and swoon at his gallantry. Tom’s charms were apparently fully effective on the elderly.

“Thanks Nana. I’m glad you approve.”

“I’m just delighted that you’ve found someone so wonderful, dear. You deserve all the love and joy in the world,” she said, her gnarled little hand reaching out to pat my own, her cornflower blue eyes shining happily as she looked up at me. I reached down and kissed her powdery cheek, smelling that reassuring ‘Nana’ smell of vanilla and walnut face cream.

“I think, it’s probably time Tom and I hit the road, we want to be in Devon before rush hour,” I explained apologetically, beckoning to Tom (who looked mightily relieved).

We said our goodbyes to the Book Club contingent (Mrs Jameson casting Tom one last, wistful, eye fuck) and headed for the exit. Nana followed us, fussing as she pressed a little parcel of cake into my hand.

She turned to Tom, drawing herself up to her imposing height of four-foot-eleven. “You will look after my Charlotte, won’t you, Tom? She’s a very special girl, you know.”

“I do know,” Tom replied smoothly, putting his arm around my waist and pulling me close. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Edith,” he added, kissing her hand once more.

I hugged Nana tightly, promising that I’d call and visit her soon.

“Don’t feel that you have to keep checking up on me, Charlotte. I just want you to enjoy your own life, without worrying about an old wreck like me!” she joked, pinching my cheek.

“Sure, ‘old wreck’! I’ll see you soon,” I repeated, missing her already. I waved to Nana until we were out of sight.

“So, how was that for you?” I enquired when we were safely ensconced in the Jag. Tom laughed, turning on the ignition.

“Your grandmother is quite the character…but that Jameson woman- I thought she was going to eat me alive!” he exclaimed, shuddering with mock horror.

“Quick! Drive off before she comes chasing after you to make you her boytoy!” I teased, bursting into a fit of giggles when he jokingly slammed down on the accelerator.

I settled back in the passenger seat, feeling all warm and fuzzy with contentment. ‘That went so much better than anticipated. But…is it weird that I let Tom meet Nana, considering all that we are? We are dating, I mean…we’re exclusive. It’s not that weird, is it? Ugh, stop over thinking everything. Just chill. One week of sun, sand and, oh yes, sex coming right up!’


	19. Chapter 19

We spent seven glorious days on a glorious beach, enjoying glorious weather. By day, I sunbathed, and devoured books and ice-cream; Tom, being the fidget that he is, went for runs, and swims, and even had a go at surfing. He tried to coax me into joining him on the waves, but I swiftly pointed out that my clumsiness on land was unlikely to be remedied on water, and he let it go.

That being said, he made a frequent point of running out of the sea, soaking wet, and pouncing on me, perhaps getting a bit too carried away considering we were on a public beach. I always squealed at him for getting me wet, and pushed him off, only to be greeted by a forlorn pout and his protestation that he was just cold from the water and needed warmed up.

In the evenings, we headed to the nearest village, bought a haul of local produce and cooked our own meals, eating al fresco on the lovely veranda over-looking the beach and the setting sun. It was hard to believe we were still in jolly old England.

The ‘cottage’ we stayed in was more of a mini mansion, replete with sauna, indoor pool and, most importantly, an enormous four-poster bed. I’m pretty sure that last detail was what sold the cottage to Tom, considering how much time I spent tied up to at least one of those four posts.

On our penultimate night, we had oysters, scallops and prawns. Well, Tom had the oysters; I had one look at them, saw bogies lying in a seashell and decided to forgo that particular delicacy.

“They’re an aphrodisiac, you know,” he informed me, sipping one like it was a drink. I wrinkled my nose, peeling apart a prawn.

“Yeah, because you really need the encouragement.” He laughed, unable to dispute that particular fact. I took a sip of wine, propping my feet up and staring out to the sea; the sun was sitting low in the sky, bathing our little veranda in warm light as we finished our seafood feast.

“The freckles are coming along nicely, I see,” Tom teased, gesturing to my speckled arms. I stuck my tongue out at him.

“So are yours!” I retorted, indicating his smirking face.

“This is a tan.”

“No it isn’t! It’s just a bunch of freckles that have merged to give you a bit of colour!” He grinned, stopping my argument with a kiss.

“Fine. We’re both fantastically freckly…” he murmured, trailing the back of his fingers over my shoulders. I shivered.

“Hmmm have you any new freckles from today? I really must inspect, make sure you aren’t doing any damage to your beautiful skin,” he hummed, leaving open kisses where his hand had just been.

“How thoughtful of you, Dr Hiddleston,” I whispered, stroking my fingers through his hair.

“Oh, do you want to play Doctor and patient?” He grinned mischievously up at me, nipping my shoulder with his teeth.

I laughed. “But we don’t have the proper costumes, or props,” I lamented, pouting jokingly.

“Another time, then. What do you want to play?” he enquired, sitting up and lacing his fingers through mine, resting them on my lap.

I fluttered my eyelashes. “Can’t we just play ‘Tom and Charlotte’? It’s my favourite.”

“Ah, it’s my favourite, too. But what variation shall we play?”

“Well, I was thinking we could…try something new.” Tom raised his eyebrows.

“Such as…?” I blushed and looked down, fiddling with the bow on my dress. Tom’s fingers caught my chin, bringing my gaze back to his.

“Love, tell me,” he coaxed, nuzzling his nose against mine.

“You know…the thing we talked about, our last night in Glastonbury,” I prodded, skirting around the issue.

“No, I’m afraid you’ll have to spell it out for me,” he replied, his slight smirk giving away that he knew exactly what I meant. I blushed even more, but determinedly looked him dead in the eye.

“Fine. Anal. I would like to try anal, okay?” I said, a little snappishly, moving to get up and tidy our plates. Tom’s arm slid across my shoulders, holding me tight against him.

“Don’t be upset, love. I was only teasing you.”

“Hmph.” I pulled my hand from his, crossing my arms and huffing to the best of my ability.

“Are you going to sulk now? I know a few ways to make it up to you…” he purred, kissing the delicate spot behind my ear. I quivered slightly, but held firm. I felt Tom grin against my neck.

“I see I’m going to have to use all of the persuasive techniques in my power,” he mused. I watched him warily, but he simply lunged forward, grabbing me and flinging me over his shoulder like a bona fide caveman.

I was stunned silent- but only for a second.

“Tom! Oh my God! Put me down, you brute!” I squealed, swatting at his pert bottom as he walked us into the bedroom. He bent down, carefully depositing me on the bed and grinning with self-satisfaction.

“Was it really necessary to manhandle me like that?”

“Don’t play coy, darling. I know you like it rough,” he said, with a roguish wink. He had me there.

“What shall I do with you, hmmm? I haven’t taken you over my knee in a long time, perhaps that’s why you’re so bratty…” I bit my lip, watching him as he paced around the bed, speaking his thoughts aloud.

“…Shall I make you cum, over and over again until you forgive me? Or will I not let you cum at all, to teach you a lesson?” I really didn’t like the sound of that last one. Tom noticed my disgruntled expression, laughing softly and sitting on the edge of the bed beside me.

“You don’t look too keen on that second one, love. So, we’ll make a deal. I’ll give you lots of orgasms, and you’ll promise not to huff with me again.”

“Forever?” I asked, impudently.

“No, my cheeky minx, for the rest of our holiday. Although, now I definitely think you need a spanking,” he growled, rolling me onto my front as I helplessly squirmed against him. He caught both of my wrists, pinning them to the bed above my head as his other hand trailed up the back of my leg, dragging the skirt of my dress up over my bare behind.

“I thought you were going to take me over your knee,” I pointed out breathlessly, no longer squirming as he kneaded and squeezed the globes of my ass.

“Is that what you want, Charlotte?”

I swivelled my head, trying to look at him over my shoulder. “Yes, Tom.”

“It isn’t much of a punishment then, is it?” he asked, seriously, although I detected a smile in his voice.

“Why are you punishing me? Haven’t I been a good girl?” I sighed, acting as coquettish as possible.

“And what if I want you to be bad?”

“I can be bad, too. But…I’ll need your help.”

Tom rolled me back over, still holding my wrists as he stared down at me.

“Are you sure you want to give this a go?” I nodded, chewing my lip.

“I want a proper answer,” he said, reprovingly.

“Yes, Tom. I do want to try it…only, be gentle with me?” He leaned down, softly kissing my forehead, nose and lips.

“Of course. We’ll start very slowly. If you feel the slightest unease or discomfort, I want you to use your safe word- understood?” His voice slipped a note lower, his expression and movements shifting and tightening as he went into ‘Dominant mode’.

“Yes, Tom.”

He released my hands, deftly untying the halter of my dress and pulling it down over my hips, flinging it away across the room. I giggled when he kissed the insides of my ankles, gently slipping off my sandals and tossing them away, too. With that, I was buck naked. I had long since given up wearing underwear around Tom- it was pointless, and I was fed up seeing pretty knickers ripped to shreds because he was too impatient to take them off nicely.

Tom fetched the trusty rope (purchased at a little hardware store near the Somerset border- I daresay that the owner would have blushed scarlet had he known what Tom intended to use his purchase for) and knelt beside my head.

“Hands up. Clasp them together,” he instructed, his voice both soft and gravelly. I stretched my hands as high as I could, and Tom swiftly tied them together, then attached the end of the rope to a very convenient gap in the ornately carved headboard. Tom ran his fingers under the rope, testing that it wasn’t too tight; it wasn’t nearly as soft as the special silk rope he had at home, and I knew he was concerned about doing damage to me.

I expected him to tie my ankles, too, as was par for the course. I craned my neck, trying to see what he was up to, rifling through his bag.

“Do I have to blindfold you, Charlotte?” he tutted, without so much as turning his head towards me. ‘Should’ve known he has eyes on the back of his head…it explains so much!’

“No, Tom. Sorry,” I replied meekly, lying back and staring at the ceiling, practicing deep breathing.

I felt the end of the bed depress as Tom climbed on. He grasped my ankles, and pushed them wide apart.

“Bend your knees,” he commanded, planting my feet on the bed when I did so. The position he had me in was a bit different from usual, but it raised my hips a good amount, meaning that he would have better access to me- all of me.

He leant forward, almost parallel over me, trailing his warm hands down the tender inside of my arms, down to knead my boobs and pluck my nipples into little peaks. I squirmed and whimpered, but the ropes, and his thighs between my spread legs, meant that I couldn’t really go anywhere.

I heard something squirt from a tube, and then Tom’s long fingers were massaging a cold, jellied-liquid onto my nipples. ‘Lube, it’s gotta be lube, right?’ I could faintly pick up the scent of vanilla, a smell that always reminds me of baking, and I licked my lips.

Tom must have read my mind, for he brought his fingertip to my mouth, smearing the lube (I knew it for sure now) across my lips. I hummed happily at how tasty it was, almost smacking my lips. Tom laughed, squirting some more onto his fingers and slipping them into my mouth. I sucked his fingers hard, lapping as much of the vanilla taste off as possible.

“Taste good?” he enquired, watching my lips with sharp eyes as I chased his retreating fingers with the tip of my tongue.

“Mmm yes, Tom. It’s delicious.” A devious grin flickered across Tom’s face as he leant down, planting a searing, open-mouthed kiss on my vanilla-sweetened lips.

“You’re right, it is delicious. Or perhaps, that’s just the taste of your pretty mouth, Charlotte. Let me test elsewhere…” he purred, kissing down my neck until he reached my chest, sucking a lubed nipple into his mouth. I moaned breathlessly, arching underneath him as his talented tongue rubbed and stroked all over the swollen bud, faint groans reverberating in his throat.

“Mmm still not sure,” he murmured, licking and kissing his way across my belly. His hands stroked and kneaded my thighs, leaving imprints of his fingers, as his mouth moved down towards the exact place I wanted it to be.

He blew across my core, the cool air making me shiver and swell even more. A single digit ran between my labia, spreading my own moisture around, but being careful not to accidentally touch my clit. I heard the bottle of lube again, and sure enough, I jumped as the cool liquid was spread lavishly all over, Tom’s fingertips massaging and encouraging even more blood to flow down and plump my lower lips.

I let out a great, shuddering breath when his thumb swiped over my clit, drowning it in the sweet, cool lube. The feeling of wetness made my body produce even more of its own, and within minutes I was all but drenched.

I tensed up as I felt Tom’s breath closer and closer until his tongue darted out, licking a long trail right up my centre, stopping at the very top to give a bit of special treatment to my clit and drawing a set of high-pitched moans from me.

“Delicious isn’t the word, love. Exquisite…divine…even they don’t do justice to how wonderful you taste,” he growled, his stubble grazing against my sensitive skin as he spoke.

“What do you want me to do, pet? Do you want me to eat you, feast on you? Or do you want me to fill you, to fuck you with my fingers? You may only have one.” He laughed devilishly at my protesting whimpers. Talk about a tricky choice: the feeling of his fingers filling me up, twisting and pumping inside me, or the rasp of his tongue against my clit, his teeth grazing against my tender labia.

“Uh, uh…I…I want your cock,” I stammered uncouthly, distracted by the proximity of his mouth to my clit.

“I know you do, and you’ll get it, my greedy girl, but not yet.”

“Can I…can I have your mouth?”

“Yes. Tell me what you want me to do with it.”

“I uh, I want you to…eat me out, please,” I pleaded, wanting the torment to be over.

“Very well. And I want you to come, Charlotte. As soon as you can, understood?”

‘No problemo.’ “Yes, Tom”.

“I want you to relax and enjoy, my Charlotte…. you have handed all control to me…all you have to do is receive the pleasure I give you… don’t think, just feel,” he murmured, using one hand to hold my labia open as his mouth descended.

I did exactly as instructed, letting it all go; any tension or hesitation was flung to the wind as Tom kissed, and licked, and sucked at my core, his big hands cupping my hips and tilting me wide open to his ministrations. His tongue teased at my opening, pressing in lightly, and then withdrawing, over and over until I was bucking almost hard enough to knock him off the bed. His strong forearm banded across my hips, firmly pinning me down as he turned his attention to my swollen clit, coaxing it out of hiding and purposefully rubbing his stubble against it, creating the loveliest of burns.

I was almost there, already, riding high on the waves of my climax, reduced to making incoherent noises of pleasure as a result of what Tom was doing to me. When he sealed his lips around my clit and sucked fit to hollow his already sharp cheekbones, my orgasm slammed into me, fizzing through every nerve-ending and causing every muscle to contract until I slumped back, reduced to a pool of goo.

“Wow,” I croaked, staring dreamily at the ceiling. I could hear the blood pounding around my body, galloping like wild horses. ‘Oh yeah, I made the right choice. Holy fuck, I want that every day til the end of time.’

Tom shifted off the bed, hastily pulling off his shirt and trousers before repositioning himself between my twitching legs.

“Good girl, Charlotte. That was even quicker than I thought it would be,” he said, smiling smugly at his own prowess. I watched as he brought a hand up, wiping my dampness from his lips and chin, musing that I would have preferred to lick it off him myself.

I protested feebly as he stroked a finger idly through my folds, collecting the mixture of natural and bottled lubricants. His other hand slid under my butt, lifting my hips up as he leant forward, circling his cock against my entrance.

“Tom, please…” He grinned up at me, slowly pushing inside and converting my pleas into deep, loud moans. His hand splayed over my lower back, almost pulling and pushing me away as he fucked me still sitting back on his haunches. It wasn’t like him not to go at like a jack hammer, but the slower pace suited me just fine, allowing me to really feel the stretch of him, the delicious way his head nudged against my ‘g-spot’…

I tensed slightly as I became aware of his finger gently exerting pressure against my back entrance, carefully slicking it with lube. He sensed it immediately, glancing up at me to check that I hadn’t changed my mind. I nodded down at him, and he smiled faintly, bucking hard against me in an attempt to take my mind off what his finger was doing. I felt a slight pressure as the digit broached the tight ring of muscle, but there was no pain, just a touch of discomfort. His finger explored shallowly, slowly moving further inside me as my muscles relaxed.

His hips slammed into me, his hand gripping my lower back tightly as he began to fuck me frantically. I dazedly looked down, noticing the harsh set of his jaw and the smattering of sweat along his temples. My entire lower body felt…full. Wonderfully, satisfyingly full. Tom’s finger was completely extended now, thrusting into me whenever his cock was pulling out, and vice versa. It was overwhelming, almost too many sensations going on for my brain to compute and appreciate each one. My back arched of its own accord, my heels digging into the mattress, the sounds of slapping skin, grunts and protesting bedsprings filling my ears.

“Tom. Tom! Can I c-cum?” I practically wailed, my head tipped back and my eyes tightly shut as I tried to fight off a second, rampaging orgasm.

Tom shifted his hips, and suddenly his pelvis was grinding against my exposed clit with every thrust, setting off little fireworks behind my eyes. ‘Oh shit oh shit oh fuck fuck fuck!’

“Yes. Yes, cum for me, Charlotte,” Tom growled, his voice strained with exertion. My second orgasm hit me like a ton of bricks only a few seconds later, both sets of muscles contracting rhythmically around their intruders, which strangely, felt almost as good as the orgasm itself.

Tom pulled out, pressing his cock against my ultra-sensitive clit and thrusting wildly a couple more times until he spilled onto my sweat-sheened belly. He fell forward, mercifully extending his arm at the last minute and catching the majority of his body weight before he crushed me.

I listened to his tortured breathing, feeling rather pleased that he was as wrecked as I felt, for once. With a loud huff, Tom pulled himself up, climbing off the bed and coming up to untie my wrists.

“Are you alright, love?” he asked, sitting on the bed beside me and carefully inspecting my wrists for any damage, beginning to massage them.

“Mmm dreamy,” I purred, stretching lazily and feeling some of Tom’s cum slide off my stomach. “Oops, can you pass me a tissue?” He kissed my forehead, leaning down to wipe my belly clean.

“We did make a bit of a mess,” he mused, no doubt referring to the large wet patch beneath my open legs. I shrugged, reaching up to wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him down for a kiss.

“It’s okay, we can chuck it in the washing machine tomorrow before we go,” I assured him, peeling back the covers and sliding into the bed.

“Are you going to sleep already?” he enquired with a raised eyebrow. “It’s not even nine o’clock.”

I pouted. “I thought we could cuddle, and talk for a while.”

Tom grinned, pulling his side of the covers back and joining me. He lay on his back, wrapping his arm around my waist and pulling me up against his side.

“So the experiment went well, would you say?” he enquired.

“What gave me away?” I replied, grinning up at him.

“I have to say, I’m surprised. Pleasantly surprised. I didn’t think you were going to enjoy it.”

“Why?”

“Because, I knew you felt a bit anxious about it, and I was worried you were doing it for the wrong reasons.”

I frowned. “What ‘wrong reasons’?”

“I thought you were perhaps wanting to do it because you thought it was what I wanted,” he said softly, nuzzling his lips against my temple.

“Well, I mean, that was part of it. But I was just genuinely curious, and I wanted to…you know, explore a bit more with you,” I responded, craning my head up to kiss the corner of his jaw. “It actually felt good. Really intense. It was just a bit weird at first, not painful but a tad uncomfortable. I guess it takes a while to get used to.”

“Well, it will never be completely easy. It will always require a bit of preparation. But do you know where the biggest problem is?”

“Where?”

“Here,” he said, gently tapping my temple, “If you can’t relax up here, you won’t relax down there.”

“It’s just strange…like, it doesn’t feel natural, you know?” Tom smiled, faintly.

“But you enjoyed it, yes?”

“Yep. So wrong, but so right.” I giggled.

We lapsed into comfortable silence for a moment, and I decided to ask a question that had been puzzling me for a while.

“Tom, can I ask you something?”

“Yes?” I leant up on my elbow so that I could see him properly.

“Why did you ever sign up to that sugar daddy website? It’s not as if you’d struggle to find women.”

He pursed his lips slightly, eyebrows quirking a he pondered my question

“Honestly, it was more of a joke in the beginning, a friend of mine had mentioned the website and I must admit, I was curious. I scrolled through for a while, and just before I clicked off from boredom, I saw you…” I felt myself blush.

“…You were beautiful, of course, any fool could see that, and I knew you’d be bombarded with messages…” It was true, I had received many interested messages, but they were all vulgar and far, far too explicitly eager. Tom’s message had been clipped, cool and polite- still intimidating, but infinitely preferable.

“…Before I knew what I was doing, I had signed up and sent you a message- although I certainly didn’t hold out much hope of hearing from you.”

“Well, you were wrong there,” I grinned, tracing a line down his toned chest. He laughed.

“Yes, I never thought I’d be happy to be wrong, but there you are.”

“You know, that night we first met, I thought I had made a huge mistake,” I divulged, almost whispering, as if it was a big secret.

“Why?”

“I was so scared of you. I thought you were going to eat me alive.”

“Mmm believe me, I wanted to,” he purred, grasping the back of my neck and pulling me down towards him, playfully nipping his teeth along my throat. I shrieked and squirmed away, placing a hand over his mouth.

“You were so…cold and severe, at the start. I always felt on edge with you,” I confessed, feeling a little relieved to get it out in the open. Not that it mattered, then; everything had changed.

Tom’s eyes flickered with remorse, and he gently pulled my hand away. “I wanted to keep you at a distance. I never truly intended for this to become more than a very simple, transactional relationship,” he admitted, watching me warily.

“Same,” I professed, not seeing any point in lying about it. “Sometimes…sometimes I wish that we didn’t have the whole…money agreement thing.” Tom’s eyes widened.

“Really?”

“Yes. It just…it stresses me out. I mean, I do need the money…but, I hate that I need it. I don’t want to be dependent.”

Tom nodded thoughtfully, stroking his hand soothingly along my spine. “I appreciate that it may be hard for you, but as you said, you need it. There’s no shame in that. Besides, if you didn’t have enough money to live comfortably, it would stress me out.”

“Yeah?” I felt bashful all of a sudden, dipping my head down and focussing on Tom’s lovely collarbones. He tucked a strand of damp hair behind my ear, brushing his thumb across my cheekbone and coaxing me to look back up at him.

“Yes. You are far too hard on yourself, Charlotte. You’re a dedicated student, everyone has to start somewhere. One day, very soon, you’ll be a high-flying consultant with more money than you know what do with.”

I grinned at his blatant flattery. “You think so?”

“Absolutely. You are incredibly intelligent, and nobody can resist your unassuming charm. I know I certainly can’t.”

“You do spoil me,” I said, dramatically fluttering my eyelashes and making him laugh.

“I know, and I enjoy doing it. You deserve all the finest things in life.” I lay down again, cuddling up against him.

“Including you?” I joked, prodding his side.

“Naturally.”


	20. Chapter 20

I returned to London following our short (but wonderful) beach break in Devon to find a surprise waiting: Saranya.

“Ahhhhhh!”

Sara grinned at me cheekily from her hiding place behind the door. I nudged my large bag off where it had fallen on my toes, glaring at her as I clutched my chest.

“What the fuck, Sara? Are you trying to kill me?”

“No, silly moo- I just wanted to surprise you!” she giggled, wrapping her skinny arms around me and squeezing.

“Mission accomplished.”

“How was the holiday?” she enquired, settling herself back on the sofa and nibbling on her sandwich.

“Yeah, it was…good.” I lifted up my travel bag, slinging it into my bedroom.

She snorted. “Good? That’s it? I want details, woman! Where did you go, what did you do, how was the sex?”

“You are so nosey,” I joked, unbuckling my sandals and heading to the kitchen. A couple of butterflies fluttered in my stomach, knowing that a discussion about Tom was inevitable. ‘But is that so bad? I introduced him to Nana, for chrissakes! I can just give Sara the gloss version, too.’

“Tea and gossip, the perfect companions,” Sara remarked, rinsing her plate in the sink and leaning against the counter, watching me like a cat.

‘Sara isn’t Nana. There’s no pulling the wool over her eyes.’

I smiled, a little tersely, making up our cups and following her into the living room.

“We went to Glasto first, spent a few days poking around the town. It’s such a cute place, I’d forgotten how much I love it,” I explained, distractedly blowing on my piping hot tea. Sara nodded, not yet placated. ‘Editting in process…’

“Uh…then we went down to Blackpool Sands in Devon; I caught the rays and Tom caught the waves.” Sara grinned.

“Sounds so nice! I’m jealous. So, are you freckle-tastic?” she teased, leaning over and tugging my shirt off my shoulder before I had a chance to dodge. Her eyes widened, the laughter stopping dead on her lips.

‘Fuck. I knew I shouldn’t have let Tom get so rough last night.’ I had scrutinised the hickeys and teeth marks along my neck and shoulders that morning in the mirror, mock-chiding Tom, who had simply laughed and added another one. I wasn’t actually bothered by the bite marks, just a tad annoyed that I’d have to cover up for a couple of days in the blistering heat.

“Didn’t they have food in Devon? Why did Tom have to take a bite out of you?” she asked, her voice light, but her expression troubled. I shrugged, nonchalantly, feeling the blood boil in my face.

“He just got a bit carried away. It happens.”

“Often?”

“Sara, it’s fine, really. He wasn’t…doing anything I didn’t want him to, okay? Since when are you such a prude?” I responded, feeling myself get snappish with defensiveness. Sara’s eyes narrowed.

“I’m not a prude. But you used to be. Emphasis on used,” she said, waspishly. I stood up, slamming my mug down on the coffee table.

“Are you calling me a slut?”

“I wouldn’t know what you bloody well are, these days. You don’t tell me squat!” she snapped, standing up as well.

“Why should I, if you’re just going to be a judgmental bitch about stuff that is none of your business,” I retorted, skirting past her to my bedroom. She caught my elbow before I made it more than two steps.

“Char, wait please! I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to be a judgemental bitch, really, I was just surprised, is all,” she pleaded, using her big, puppy-brown eyes to persuade me. I huffed, rolling my eyes as the anger left me as quickly as it had come.

“Fine, I forgive you, you big nun,” I laughed, returning the hug she caught me in.

“Let’s go out, huh? We haven’t done anything together in ages. Let’s go shopping! The summer sales are on!” she said excitedly, nodding her head enthusiastically to try and persuade me. I sighed in defeat, kissing my dreams of a power nap goodbye.

*

We ended up on Oxford Street- a.k.a. the single worst place to be in London in the summer. There were tourists everywhere, walking so slowly and hitting everyone with their massive back-packs that I lost the will to shop in five minutes flat.

After idly hoking through Zara, Topshop and Warehouse, I suggested a trip to Victoria’s Secret, which instantly triggered a shit-eating grin on Sara’s face.

“Oooh, wanting some underwear to impress the boyf?” she teased, linking her arm through mine and cackling evilly. I blushed, elbowing her in the side as she guffawed.

I had never fussed much over VS in the past; I didn’t have a boyfriend worth dressing up for, and I would’ve rather shot myself in the foot than spend £50 on a wispy bra and knickers. Oh, how times change.

I roamed around the bright, sparkling rooms with Sara, slightly overwhelmed by the smell of perfume and the thumping bass of the music. Within five minutes, Sara had a fistful of lingerie she wanted to try on, while I dithered over an admittedly very pretty sheer lace bra in palest blue, flecked with gold and bedecked with satin ribbons. It was £30, and if looked at in certain lights, I was convinced it would be nigh invisible. Not that I couldn’t afford it, I could have purchased exactly one hundred and sixty six with one month’s allowance, if the notion took me- what can I say? Frugality is hard to alter.

‘But the question is: will Tom like it?’ I decided to, at least, try it on.

“Sara?” I called, walking past several shut doors.

“Yeah?” she responded, her manicured foot sticking out under one of the doors.

“I’m just beside you, ok?” I locked the little door behind me, divesting myself of my shoes and shirt. My current bra was a sad beige affair, the sight of it coaxing me into getting a few new, prettier ones.

“Sweet. What’re you trying?”

“That pale blue bra,” I replied, wrestling to get said bra on me. ‘I picked the right size, didn’t I?’

“Need a second opinion?”

“Sure.” I unlatched to door and she slinked in.

“Nice nips,” she said, pulling the door closed behind her. I stuck my tongue out at her in the mirror.

“You sure you’re even wearing a bra?” she teased.

“Is it too slutty?”

“Yeah. He’ll love it!”

“It fits okay?” I fidgeted with the wire underneath, checking if it was too tight.

“Why, what size is it?”

“34C.”

“Since when are you a C? Have your boobs gotten bigger?” she said, enviously.

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve piled weight on all over,” I said peevishly, pinching the extra flesh gathered at the top of my trousers. Another change I was noticing as a person with money- I could buy any food I wanted, and lots of it.

“Shut up, you look slamming. Tom’s one lucky motherfucker, if I may say so.”

“And what about you, sexy senorita?” I replied, gesturing to her red, polka-dot underwear.

“You like?” she asked, twirling in a circle.

“Muy caliente.”

“You know, it’s funny…” she mused, heading for the door. I raised my eyebrows, waiting for her to elaborate.

“What?”

“I would’ve thought with all the hot sex you’re having, you’d be dropping pounds by the second!” She grinned mischievously, darting out the door as I threw a sandal at her head.

**

I didn’t see Tom for a few days after our holiday, and even though I knew he genuinely needed to catch up on over a week’s worth of work that he had neglected to spend time with me, I was still a bit grumpy about it.

Thankfully, Tom had already pencilled in a pretty awesome ‘date’ for us- a trip to Wimbledon to watch the men’s final. Quite exciting.

He collected me in a hired town car just after lunch, looking pristine as ever in a pale grey waistcoat and trousers, with a silvery tie that made his meagre ‘tan’ seem to glow. I myself had chosen a very Wimbledon-appropriate white dress with pretty lace cut outs and strappy wedges. We looked so cute together, if I may say so.

We were seated in the Royal Box (I didn’t even bother to ask Tom how he had managed that one) and there was celeb-spotting abound. My eyes nearly fell out of my head when I saw Gerard Butler and Bradley Cooper in near-matching pale blue suits taking endless selfies just a couple of rows in front. Tom, amused by my fan-girling for a limited time only, purchased a large box of the ‘Wimbledon special’: fresh strawberries and cream, which, when coupled with the dirty things he began whispering in my ear, definitely kept me distracted.

“Mmmm these are so sweet,” I practically moaned, reaching for another shiny strawberry.

“Not nearly as sweet as your cunt,” Tom purred, right in my ear. I gasped, turning almost as red as the strawberries.

“Tom! Don’t!” I hissed. There were people all around us- who knew if they could hear us over the general din of chatter?

Tom simply laughed, his breath tickling my ear.

“You know, I can think of a better way to enjoy the ‘Wimbledon special’- it involves you lying on my kitchen table, naked save for strategic strawberries and cream,” he drawled, his tongue darting out to taste the skin below my ear. ‘Thank god I wore my hair down today!’

“It would taste so much better for being on your delicious skin, love. I’d lick every inch of you clean, taking extra care to suck your pretty nipples until they’re berry pink…”he rumbled, nipping the shell of my ear. I could feel my brain beginning to fuzz as blood rushed southwards.

“Tom…” I whined, breathlessly, half wanting him to stop and half desperate for him to continue.

Mercifully, the umpire blew the whistle, and all eyes turned to the court, silence falling like a blanket over the stadium.

***

Murray won, of course, but certainly not easily. The final set was so unbelievably tense; even I, not much of a tennis fan, found myself sighing and groaning with the other spectators as the match point came and went again and again. Tom was ecstatic when Murray won, leaping from his seat and cheering with boyish delight. His joy was infectious as we, along with many others from the Royal Box, were ushered down a network of corridors and introduced to the man of the hour himself. I stuck shyly to Tom’s side as he chatted animatedly to Murray and several famous fans, dumbstruck by the glitzy company I found myself in. We eventually said our goodbyes, heading back to Tom’s house for a few hours before the winner’s gala that evening.

When we slid into the town car, Tom picked up right where he had left off before the match. By the time we arrived in Belgravia, I was decidedly dishevelled and feeling extremely sheepish as Tom paid off the (not so) unsuspecting driver.

Tom locked the front door behind him, letting the keys and each of his cufflinks fall carelessly onto the table in the foyer.

“You have five seconds to get to the bedroom, love. You’d better run,” he remarked, rolling up his shirtsleeves and grinning wolfishly as I squealed and took off, mindless of how unbalanced my wedges made me. He caught me just as I was about to set foot in the bedroom, lifting me around the middle and spinning us in dizzying circles until I laughingly pleaded for mercy.

“Mmm, well since I caught you, I think I deserve a prize of some sort,” he mused, grazing his lips against the back of my neck. I melted into him, unconsciously resting my head against his shoulder as he moved us nearer to the bed.

“I bought some new underwear you might like to see,” I responded, grinning delightedly as I felt a quiet groan reverberate in his chest.

“Yes. Show me,” he instructed, releasing me and going to perch on the edge of the bed. I attempted to put on a little performance for him, turning and bending over to unfasten my wedges, slowly pulling the zipper of my dress down my spine and watching his reaction over my shoulder. Once my dress was kicked aside, I rather reluctantly turned to give him a frontal view.

“Oh, darling. Aren’t you a mouth-watering sight?” he purred, openly leering at me. I blushed, scrunching my nose and none-too-subtly crossed my arms over the new pelt of fat on my lower belly. Tom’s sharp blue eyes narrowed, taking in every uncomfortable shift and movement.

“What’s the matter, Charlotte? And do not- for the sake of the skin on your backside- say ‘nothing’”, he stated, standing up and towering over me. My shoulders bowed in, my hands twisting against each other.

“I’ve just…put on a bit of weight, is all,” I mumbled, staring at the interlocking silver pattern on his tie. Tom made an irritated, growly noise, and grasped my shoulders. I could feel his gaze cutting into my dipped forehead, silently commanding me to look up at him; I relented, reluctantly.

He leant down, until I could feel his cool breath darting over my lips as he spoke softly and steadily. “Darling, you are perfection incarnate. Every inch of you.” As he spoke, his hands trailed down my sides, making me shift from ticklishness, until they caught my wrists, gently pulling them away from the spot I was most self-conscious about. The backs of his fingers stroked over the little pudge of fat, trailing lower to skim tantalizingly along the top of my knickers, before his hands grabbed my hips and pulled me flush up against him.

“Are you worried that I will be less attracted to you if you gain weight?” he enquired, sounding offended at the very notion.

I shrugged, looking away from him.

“I just want to be sexy for you, Tom,” I admitted, with a sigh. It’s no easy thing, dating a man as unbelievably and naturally attractive as him- it’s absolute poison for your self-esteem to be constantly standing beside a bona fide Adonis.

He laughed softly, catching my chin with the tip of his finger and tilting my face up. “Darling, you are sexy. Incredibly so. In fact, I would go so far as to say you’re sometimes too sexy- I could barely concentrate on the tennis today with you sitting beside me in that pretty white dress, all gasping and wide-eyed as you watched the action,” he murmured, his own grin coaxing me to reciprocate.

“Really?” I asked, peeking up at him through my lashes. He laughed again, pressing his lips against my forehead.

“Yes, really, my lovely Charlotte,” he assured me, slowly backing up and sitting down on the edge of the bed.

Feeling happier, I smiled and went to follow him. He held up his hand, an eyebrow raised in cold question. I faltered, frowning at the drastic change in his expression.

He smirked slightly, narrowing his eyes. “Did you really think you were going to get out of it that easily, pet?” he purred, as I wracked my brains. He always kept me on my toes, that’s for sure.

“What…what do you mean, Tom?” He sighed, lightly.

“What are you to say whenever I compliment you, Charlotte?” He asked, looking at me with stern disappointment.

“Oh. Thank you, Tom,” I answered, quickly- but not quickly enough.

He tutted, shaking his head, the small quirk at the corners of his lips telling me he wasn’t wholly infuriated.

“Too late now, love. Over my knee,” he instructed, moving his legs apart and patting the space where he wanted me to lie ass up. I bit my lip, irritated with myself for forgetting one of his ‘rules’, but I wisely said nothing, and draped myself (ungracefully) across his strong thighs.

“I suppose you would rather I didn’t rip your new knickers?” he enquired, rubbing his hand across the skimpy blue lace.

I grinned against his leg, shaking my head. “It’s alright. I bought a spare pair.” He laughed appreciatively, twisting the fabric between his dexterous fingers and tugging until I heard a distinctive tearing noise. ‘Poor, pretty knickers. You really didn’t last long.’

Tom’s hand cupped my ass, caressing the very spots I knew he was seconds away from blistering into oblivion. His other hand settled high up on my back, holding me stiffly in position.

“I want you to count for me, Charlotte. Every single one,” he instructed, the dark tone of his voice sending a delicious thrill through my body.

“Yes, Tom.” I gritted my teeth and screwed my eyes up tight, waiting for the first smack. If I had hoped he would be more gentle than usual, in deference to my slight upset a few minutes earlier, I would have been damn disappointed. I hadn’t endured a proper spanking from Tom in a while, and the lapse of time had made me soft; by stroke five my voice was choked and tears were darting out from the corners of my eyes. His hand painted its imprint all over my buttocks and down to the tops of my thighs, varying the pressure with every stroke, but not holding back the power it possessed at any point.

My cries must have become truly pathetic, because he stopped much sooner than I had anticipated.

“I think that should suffice,” he murmured softly, just after the fifteenth strike. I breathed a shuddering sigh of relief, awkwardly reaching up to wipe the tears from my eyes. Tom gently manhandled me until I was perched on his lap, stroking my hair soothingly and pressing chaste little kisses to my shoulder.

“Do you feel better, now?” he enquired, his eyes searching mine. Oddly, I did feel a lot better- all of the worry and negativity about my body had melted away under his ministrations. I felt lighter and freer, more contented. I whispered all of this to him, twining my arms around his neck and burying my face against his chest.

“I’m glad, little one. But remember, I don’t want you saying or thinking cruel things about yourself, and if I catch you mistreating yourself, there will be consequences. Understood?” His words were a perfect blend of soft and sharp, the underlying dominance in his tone making me shiver.

“Yes, Tom,” I promised, kissing the pronounced dip between his collarbones.

“Now that nastiness is behind us, shall we have a bit of fun, darling?” Tom purred, delicately extricating himself from me.

He stood, stripping off completely. I unconsciously licked my lips, tracing his broad shoulders and the lean muscles of his torso with hungry eyes. He lay down on the bed, keeping his feet on the floor.

“Charlotte, come and kneel over here,” he commanded, indicating that I should position myself over his face. I gaped at him with horror, flushing all over.

“Charlotte, if I have to tell you twice, the paddle will be adding a few shades of pink to your lovely posterior,” he warned, jolting me into action. I crawled onto the bed, carefully positioning a knee on either side of his head and practically bursting with embarrassment. His hands reached up, grabbing my thighs and pulling them in tighter.

“Good. Now, lean forward until you’re lying flat across me,” he instructed, his voice slightly muffled by my thighs. I gingerly placed my hands on the duvet either side of his hips, slowly sliding forwards until we were chest to chest- or, should I say, chest to pelvis. The tip of his cock was only an inch or so from my mouth, the flushed head beading with a little droplet of fluid. I whimpered when his hands slid up, closing around my stinging arse and pulling me back until I could feel his steady breathes against my centre.

I tentatively reached forwards, just barely nuzzling my lips against the head. Tom’s breath caught, the stilted exhalation causing my folds to tingle at the sensation. His head turned, the faint day-old stubble grazing the insides of my thighs as his tongue began tracing the flesh just an inch from my core, his teeth occasionally grazing a particular spot.

I caught myself on, being so easily distracted, and turned my focus back to the treat right in front of me. I braced myself on one elbow, reaching my hand up to band my fingers around the base of Tom’s cock as I began sucking lightly on the head. Tom’s lips mimicked mine, sucking at the insides of my thighs until I knew I was bound to have a brand new host of hickeys.

Irked that he wasn’t quite playing fair, nor paying attention to where I actually wanted him to be, I tilted my head, carefully seeking out the raised piece of flesh just on the underside of the crown and hollowing my cheeks around it. Tom’s reaction was instant, a low groan reverberating against my skin as his hips bucked up, seeking further entrance into my mouth. Feeling bold, I rolled my hips back in response, telling him exactly what he could do to encourage my efforts.

His tongue finally paid its due exactly where I wanted it, teasingly darting through my swollen folds and swiping quickly over my straining clit. I tightened my grip, took a deep breath, and surged forward, engulfing a mouthful of his cock and carefully stroking the stark veins with my tongue. The smell and taste of his arousal seemed to spread through my mouth, making me unconsciously suck harder as I tried to draw his pleasure from him.

Tom’s hands were gripping my butt too hard by that point, but with his face buried between my legs and his tongue stroking and fucking me with its usual mad skill, I wasn’t so concerned. His hips were beginning to lazily buck in response to the strength of my sucking, so I pulled back, dipping my tongue into the weeping slit and languidly stroking the hot, hard (and wet) length of him with my fist.

I wasn’t sure if he wanted us to come in that position, but from the reaction of his hips, I guessed that it would almost certainly be happening- and soon. In the interests of avoiding another spanking, I decided to check.

“Tom, c-can I come?” I gasped, my voice so husky and low that I sounded, to my own ears, like a man.

He came up for air, a pair of fingers slipping down into my folds to keep me going while his mouth was otherwise engaged.

“Yes, Charlotte. Come in my mouth, when I come in yours,” he rumbled, nipping a previously bitten spot on my inner thigh. I made a small noise of agreement, my hips rolling against his mouth again of their own accord. I re-sealed my lips around the head of his cock, easing him back in as far as I could manage.

A muffled screech issued from me as Tom’s slicked finger circled my back entrance, slowly easing itself inside. My eyes rolled, and the air felt like it had been vacuumed from my lungs at the overwhelming sensations he was giving me; I realised I was slacking on my end, and martialled my attention back to making Tom see stars. I waited until I had taken him as far as possible before I hit my gag reflex, then waited a beat, gathering myself, before I took him even deeper. A strangled groan reverberated through my core as I felt the very tip of him begin to slide into my throat; knowing I couldn’t take him much farther, I reached down to fondle his balls, feeling a surge of pride as his whole body quivered in response.

I reluctantly pulled back a bit, in need of air, buzzing with pride at having reduced Tom to a mass of goo. Not content to let me have the upper hand for long, Tom sealed his lips around my clit and simultaneously pressed another finger into my ass.

That did it. My orgasm exploded from the base of my spine, contracting each of my muscles in turn and knocking my senses for six. Luckily, my release had triggered Tom’s, and he arched beneath me, emptying into my mouth.

I spluttered slightly, shaking all over as I licked the escaped come from around my lips and chin. Tom’s ragged breaths were grating at my now very sensitised core, and I wriggled to try and get away from it. He let me go, reluctantly, and I rolled onto my back beside him, feeling like a big bowl of jelly.

“Wow. That really was fun,” I remarked breathlessly, staring in a daze at the ceiling. Tom laughed huskily, reaching over and affectionately petting my leg.

“It certainly was, Charlotte, it certainly was…It’s a damn shame we have to get ready now,” he lamented, wearily pulling himself into a sitting position and grinning mischievously down at me, “I don’t know about you, but I’d very much like to go for a second set.”

I groaned, covering my face with my hands.

“Okay, now I’m glad we have to get ready. You just absolutely killed me there!” I giggled, squealing and shrieking for mercy when his fingers began tickling down my sides.

****

A couple of hours after our sexcapades, we were suited and booted, and ready to go.

My dress was stunning- yards of sweeping lilac silk, gathered at the waist and at one shoulder, in a decidedly ancient Greek fashion. I pinned my hair up, very conscious of the faded love bites on my neck and shoulders that no amount of makeup could fully disguise. Tom had the perfect solution- a bedazzling collar of diamonds that would have sufficiently blinded anyone who looked too closely at the offending areas. He pressed a chaste kiss to the nape of my neck, just above the clasp, after fastening it into place. He stood behind me, in a slick Alexander McQueen tuxedo, staring at our reflection.

“You look like a goddess,” he murmured, worshipping the tender spot between my neck and shoulder with his lips.

“Thank you, Tom. Though, please, no more hickeys!” I pleaded. I felt his laugh as an exhalation of breath against my skin.

“Fine. Though, I really think you shouldn’t cover them at all. I quite like the idea of people seeing you marked as mine,” he purred, raking his eyes over me hotly and pulling my hips back so that he could press against my arse. I winced, pulling away with a yelp.

“Ugh, how am I going to stick sitting through five courses?” I wailed, massaging my poor, sore behind.

Tom smirked, unable to avoid a snort of laughter.

“Well, my little minx, you should have considered that before you misbehaved,” he chided, giving me a sharp pat on the bottom before hooking his arm through mine and leading me out to the waiting town car.


	21. Chapter 21

I felt the fine stem of the champagne glass crunch beneath the iron grip of my hand, the bubbly frothing over the edge as I hurriedly slammed it on a nearby table, all but sprinting from the gazebo with my phone plastered to my ear. I ignored Sara’s concerned stare, waving my hand in a gesture that said ‘later, I’ll explain later.’ The last thing I wanted to do was cause drama at her graduation.

“…Ms Green, can you still hear me? Your grandmother is on the way to the hospital now…”

*

“Are you quite sure you don’t want me to come with you? I can take a few days’ leave, if necessary,” Tom said, gently stroking the hair back from my forehead. I smiled, leaning up to kiss him. We were cuddled up in bed, Tom seeming intent on hugging the worry out of me. His methods were working; I had calmed down considerably since I had arrived back at his house, choking on my own tears as I explained to him what had happened.

“Yes, I’m sure. This is something I should probably do myself,” I explained, unable to tell him exactly why I didn’t want him coming with me. “Thank you for offering, though. You’re so wonderful,” I added, stretching to press another trio of kisses to his soft, smiling lips.

The pad of his thumb smoothed away the stubborn crease between my eyebrows.

“It’s going to be alright, Charlotte. Your Grandmother will be in shock, but it’s only a minor fracture. A vital woman like her, she’ll be right as rain in no time,” he assured me, the sympathetic expression in his wide blue eyes making my bottom lip quiver as I fought back yet more tears.

“I know. I just, I can’t not worry about her. Fractures can be so dangerous for the elderly, if they have to stay in hospital for too long to recover, they can catch all sorts of illnesses,” I babbled, my voice wavering as I began to cry again.

Tom’s face crumpled as he pulled me tighter against him, tucking my cheek against his chest and gently cradling the back of my head, massaging my scalp with his long, nimble fingers until I calmed down again.

“She’ll have to go to a home for sure, now,” I whispered, realising the sad truth as it spilt from my lips. Nana hadn’t been wearing her little alarm necklace when she fell; if it hadn’t been for her carer, Joanna, arriving that evening to check up on her, she could have lain on the floor for days until someone found her. It made my stomach churn to think I had been sipping champagne and schmoozing at Sara’s graduation while Nana was lying on her kitchen floor in agony, completely helpless-

“Stop that,” Tom growled, making me jump at the vehemence in his tone. He caught my face between his hands, staring into my eyes. “Stop blaming yourself, Charlotte. You’re not a mind-reader. You couldn’t possibly have known what had happened.”

“I should have been there with her. Uni’s over, I should be with her,” I replied softly, knowing that what I was essentially saying was: I shouldn’t be here with you, living it up and forgetting my responsibilities.

Tom’s eyes flickered for a second, and I felt another stab of guilt as I saw my meaning sink in. Before I could make amends, he remarked, “I recall your grandmother instructing you to enjoy your life. Charlotte, your love for your grandmother is admirable, and understandable, but you have to stop holding yourself responsible every time something goes wrong. You’re not in control.”

“I know that, but…it’s hard. I’m just always afraid something is going to happen to her, and then I’ll be alone-”

“Not alone,” he corrected, fiercely. I bit my lip, feeling my eyes water as I realised I had pissed him off.

“Don’t be angry with me, Tom. Please,” I begged, pathetically.

He sighed, shaking his head and smiling gently at me.

“I’m not angry with you, silly girl. I’m worried about you. You’re going to make yourself ill, at this rate of going.”

“So…you’re worried about me being worried?” I asked cheekily, raising an eyebrow in question.

Tom laughed, his tongue darting between his teeth.

“I suppose I am. Look at what you’re doing to me, woman,” he growled, rolling us over and pinning me to the bed beneath him. He caught my mouth with his, his tongue roving along the seam of my lips, seeking entrance. I opened up to him, letting his tongue slip and stroke against my own. Pleasant though it was, I wasn’t feeling the usual spark. I delicately pulled back, before he began to take things further.

“I’m not in the mood tonight, I’m sorry,” I whispered, guiltily. Tom simply smiled, nuzzling his nose against mine.

“I know, darling. Would you like a nightcap? It might help you to drift off,” he said, sitting up and beginning to peel back the covers around me. I scooted back, sliding under the duvet and snuggling into his cosy jumper that I had commandeered.

“Can I have a little sip of Midleton’s?” I had grown quite fond of its smooth flavour over the past couple of months, under Tom’s influence.

“Of course, I’ll just be a minute,” Tom replied, pressing a kiss to my forehead.

I pulled the duvet tighter around me, tugging the ridiculously long jumper sleeves over my hands and inhaling Tom’s comforting scent, trying desperately to keep my mind off the worry that was plaguing it.

**

For the second time in a month, I found myself travelling to Somerset. Only this time, I was taking the train - alone. The reason I hadn’t wanted Tom to come with me was really two-fold: firstly, I felt guilty about asking him to sacrifice yet more office time for my benefit, and secondly, well…there was a bit of deception afoot.

I had done extensive research into the prices of the best care homes in Somerset, and holy hell, was it expensive. Add to the fact that Nana required specialist care as a result of her dementia, and I found myself facing bills of £3000 per month. I didn’t tell Nana just how pricey the places were…and I didn’t tell Tom either, because I just knew he’d insist on paying for everything.

Tom gave me £5000 per month, and on average, I spent between £1000-1500 of it on electricity, transport, food etc. From the beginning of our ‘arrangement’, I had saved a cool £15000- crazy money, money I didn’t need. But enough to finance Nana’s stay at Oaktree Hill for a clear five months.

Neither one of the two most important people in my life would even think of allowing me to use my own money, so, I told a little fib. Nana did receive funding from the government, as all elderly people do, for state care homes, but I had read too many horror stories to send her off to somewhere below-par. Besides, Nana really did need –and deserve- the best care in the world, and I was damned if anyone or anything was going to get in the way of me giving it to her. I simply told both of them that it was all state funded, because her doctor had recommended the facilities at Oaktree Hill for dementia sufferers. Little white lies; no harm, no foul.

If anything, I would be pleased to be putting the left over money to good use; it pissed me off more than anything else, but I knew Tom wouldn’t accept my suggestion to stop the money all together. I would simply keep using around a grand each month – plenty to live comfortably- and then I’d use the rest to help out Nana. Perfect plan.

And so, I organized everything behind the scenes. Fortunately, there were a couple of vacancies at Oaktree Hill so, after double-checking with Nana that it was her favourite of the care homes, I paid three months upfront and began wondering how to tackle moving all of her stuff.

I realised that I’d also have to sell the house at some point, but as she officially owned it, at least there was no mortgage or rent to pay. Besides, I was clueless about the property market and all the paperwork involved. Thank goodness I could turn to my solicitor- boyfriend for assistance!

When I wasn’t visiting Nana, I was travelling between Oaktree Hill and our house, moving various ornaments and keepsakes that would make the room feel more familiar and homely to Nana. The management of the care home even recommended painting the walls a similar shade to her bedroom at home, to comfort Nana as she transitioned. The more I saw of Oaktree Hill, the more I liked it; the nurses were polite and friendly, whether talking with visitors or residents, the house and grounds were absolutely stunning, and I knew Nana would soon make fast friends thanks to the various little clubs and societies on offer- bingo, gardening, painting, music lessons. It really was an incredible place, an oasis for the elderly.

So why did I feel so horribly guilty about sending –no, moving - Nana to live there?

It was better than the hospital though, that’s for damn sure. I hated having to go back there, trying not to think too hard about how close Grandpa’s ward was- how close his last room was.

Nana was doing well, in spite of her fall. She was cheerful and surprisingly lucid on the first day I called in with her, but I suspected as least half of it was an act. The doctor assured me she was doing well, and remarked how fortunate it was that she had only shattered a few bones in her wrist and ankle, rather than something bigger and infinitely more dangerous, like a hip.

“What, did Tom not come to see me?” she teased, the instant I appeared in her room on day two. I snorted with laughter, my worry diffused by the mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Afraid not, but he sends his love,” I assured her, gingerly reaching over the side of the bed and kissing her cheek.

“Shame he didn’t bring it in person…that would have cheered me right up,” she said, impishly. I gently prodded her arm, trying to look disapproving but failing miserably.

“Now, he’s my boyfriend, you do remember?” I joked, settling myself in the stiff armchair by her bed.

“Oh yes, I think I just let my memory slide for a minute.” She smiled wistfully and I shook my head, still marvelling over Tom’s effect on women of all ages.

“So, how’s the hospital food?” I enquired, pouring more water into her little plastic cup.

“Tasteless, dear. I don’t think they’re ever heard of spices or flavour in those kitchens.”

“Do you want me to bring you anything? I can go to the bakery, or get you a takeaway. I can make you sandwiches, if you’d like,” I offered, pulling a punnet of strawberries and grapes from my bag.

“Oh bless you for offering dear, but I’m just being an old grumbler. The grub is fine,” she said, picking at a little cluster of grapes.

“Nana, there’s spaces at Oaktree Hill,” I blurted out, unsure of how to broach the elephant in the room.

Nana’s face pursed for a moment, and I steeled myself for an argument. Then she sighed, her little frame shrinking in on itself.

“I’m sorry, Nana,” I whispered, grasping her uninjured hand.

Nana smiled, patting my hand with her bandaged one. “What are you sorry for, Charlotte? Being the best granddaughter anyone could ever wish for? How lucky I am to have you.”

“I think I’m the lucky one.”

“I’ll go, dear. It’s time,” she announced, after several minutes of comfortable silence. I felt the relief washing over me.

“Okay, Nana. I’ll sort it all,” I promised her. She smiled at me.

“Thank you, dear. But when you do, the very moment all the details are ironed out, I want you on a train back to London, you understand?” she said, sternly.

“Nana-”

“No buts, dear. We don’t get do-overs and I’m not about to be the one to ruin your happy life. You can come and visit me on the holidays, but otherwise, a nice little postcard or a phone call every once in a while will suffice.”

I grimaced. “I mean it, Bunny. You’re too young to be acting like a forty-year old. Have fun and enjoy your life.” I smiled vaguely at her words.

“Yes ma’am,” I said, mock-saluting her.

“I love you, Charlotte. My wonderful girl.”

I held her hand a little tighter. “I love you too, Nana.”

***

After sorting out all the details of Nana’s impending move, and ensuring she had settled in the home, I reluctantly returned to London after almost two whole weeks of absence.

I had been so exhausted, mentally and physically, that I had coerced Tom into spending the evening watching a couple of silly rom-coms with me while I lay on his sofa like a slob.

Tom didn’t look like a slob. Ever. He was sitting casually in his suit trousers and shirt, legs a mile apart as per usual; one hand resting on his knee, the other hypnotically stroking the back of my neck in a way that made it very difficult to concentrate on the film.

I hit the ‘pause’ button and turned towards him, foregoing any preamble whatsoever and attacking the side of his neck with wet kisses as my fingers traced along his exposed collarbones. His breath hitched in surprise, but his hand didn’t leave the back of my neck. If anything, he gripped me harder as I nipped and licked my way down his lovely throat.

Feeling bold, I abruptly climbed off the sofa and knelt between his spread legs. My hands rested on his knees as I peered up at him beseechingly.

“Can I?” I asked, my voice hushed. Tom’s nostrils flared, his jaw clenching with desire.

“Yes,” he rasped.

I slid my open palms up his thighs, pausing briefly to massage the taut runner’s muscles. I wriggled closer, my belly pressed against the edge of the sofa as I reached up to undo his trousers, grinning impishly up at him as I squeezed the head of his already hardening cock and slowly slid the zipper down. I continued touching him through the fabric, little thrills of pride racing through me as I felt him pulse and harden even under those lightest of touches.

“Charlotte,” he growled, his sharp eyes glowering at my dilly-dallying. I pouted slightly, but obediently slipped my hand inside, feeling the heat of his skin as I eased him out of his trousers. He was harder than I had realised; the head was flushed a rosy pink in the warm, dim light of the room, prominent veins patterning the thick shaft.

I flicked my hair back off my shoulder, leaning down to blow lightly on the head and smiling internally at the way Tom twitched and gasped in response. I grasped the base in my hand, tightening my fingers just enough to restrict the blood flow to increase the sensations he would feel, languidly rolling the tip of my tongue around the ridged crown.

I loved sucking Tom off; it was one of very few opportunities I had to be in control during our sexual escapades, and I relished in being able to drive him crazy. Not that it didn’t have any effect on me- it would be nigh impossible not to be turned on by the deep-throated moans he gave, let alone when his fingers were twisted in the roots of my hair, pulling me tight against his bucking hips.

As if reading my thoughts, Tom pulled my hair into a ponytail with one hand and not-so-subtly coaxed me to get a move on. I opened my mouth just wide enough to slide the tumescent head behind my lips, pointing my tongue and flicking against it. Tom grunted, jerking my head slightly.

“Suck, Charlotte. Don’t make me tell you again,” he warned, the dark promise behind his words making my lower belly thrum with heat. ‘Or what? You’ll spank me? Don’t think I’d mind all that much,’ I mused, rebelliously - but silently.

I hummed in acquiescence, hollowing my cheeks around him and slowly slipping my lips down a few inches further, massaging the underside with the flat of my tongue.

I had become quite experienced in pleasuring Tom with my mouth; I knew that he loved me trying to take as much of him as I possibly could, and he always responded very enthusiastically when I gave his balls some TLC. And so, I pulled out the big guns- so to speak- taking him in until the head slipped down my throat, distracting from the quiver of my gag reflex by gently rolling his balls between my fingertips. ‘Bingo’. His thighs trembled beneath my elbows, his fingers flexing around my hair as his breath came in strangled grunts and groans. I hummed happily, feeling a surge of wetness between my legs.

His thumb massaged my temples, stroking down over my cheekbones as he held my head. “That’s enough, love,” he whispered, gently tugging on my hair. I withdrew my mouth with a ‘pop!, looking up at him quizzically. His pupils were blown wide and wild as he leant down towards me. I stretched up, meeting his hungry lips as they crashed against mine, opening my mouth for him to plunder and devour.

I had so missed being with him. My brief time away had felt like a lifetime.

“Bedroom, now,” he rasped commandingly against my lips. He didn’t need to tell me twice, I rushed upstairs, quickly stripping and kneeling at the foot of the bed, waiting for him. Considering our move from drawing room to bedroom, I had an inkling of what was in store.

In recent weeks, Tom had begun to push me a little further, and I was able to add ‘butt plugs’ to the list of exciting and sinful new experiences I had encountered with him. The plugs were small at first, the widest parts barely filling me more than two of Tom’s fingers, but the sensations of the cold metal and silicone shapes entering me were very different indeed. We didn’t use them every time we played, which in a way made me feel better about the possibility that full-throttle anal would be too much for me to handle. I really didn’t want Tom to get his hopes up only to be woefully disappointed in me. Judging from the size of the plugs in comparison to Tom’s cock, I knew we had a good while to go before we could even consider the possibility. Delayed gratification and all that.

When Tom entered the room, trousers re-zipped, he headed straight to the trunk before me, extracting one… two… three… four items. I gulped, but tried to keep my gaze firmly ahead, as was expected of me.

“Darling, you’ve had such a stressful time lately, haven’t you?” he cooed, catching my chin in his palm.

“Yes, Tom.”

“I think you deserve a reward, don’t you?” I flushed at his words and bit my lip.

“Yes, Tom,” I agreed.

He lifted one of the chosen objects and showed it to me- it was a silver plug with a clear gem inlaid at the bottom. It was also a fair bit bigger than any plug we had used so far. I gulped, glancing up to look at him in question.

“I know it’s bigger than we’ve used before, but you’ve been doing so well, darling. I really think you can handle this, no problem,” he assured me, stroking me tousled hair back and tucking a strand behind my ear. “Especially after what I’m about to do to you,” he added, grinning devilishly. My stomach swooped at the darkness of his tone, my skin prickling with anticipation and soon-to-be-fulfilled desire.

Tom slowly, almost pensively, trailed the back of his fingers down my throat, between the valley of my breasts, over my soft belly, twisting his fingers to cup my mound for a brief moment.

He hummed lowly in the back of his throat, his eyes crinkling with amusement and appreciation at the wetness and warmth that greeted his digits.

“Oh darling, you really do love sucking me off, don’t you?”

I blushed scarlet. “Yes, Tom.”

“It’s mutual,” he said, winking roguishly and making me giggle slightly.

“Now, love. Show me that gorgeous behind of yours,” he instructed, his voice tightly controlled but undeniably husky. I turned away, adopting the position he always insisted on for this part; cheek pressed into the duvet, knees spread apart and ass up.

His palm splayed possessively over the base of my spine, warm and heavy on my skin.

“Give me your hands, love,” he commanded softly. I reached back, crossing my wrists just above where Tom’s hand was resting. His hand snagged them, assisting its twin in knotting the strand of silk rope around them.

“Comfortable?” he enquired, checking the tightness of the rope against my skin. My affirmative answer was somewhat muffled by the duvet. My ears pricked at the familiar snap of the lube bottle opening, but I still gasped and lurched forwards as the very tips of Tom’s fingers painted my folds with the cool liquid. His fingers traced up and down in a languid pace, mixing the lube with my own natural lubrication; I canted my hips up when he finally gave my clit some much needed attention, whining when he moved away swifter than I would have liked.

My petulant whine was greeted with a sharp swat to the bottom, so I simply pouted and simmered silently. The lid cracked open again, and I moaned delightedly as my clit was engulfed in a generous dollop of lube, Tom’s fingertips gently massaging it in circular motions that had my pelvic floor muscles clenching hungrily.

“What do you want, love?” Tom murmured, the smirk evident from his tone of voice.

I gritted my teeth, barely able to decide on an answer.

“Y-your fingers, Tom.”

“But darling, you already have them,” he pointed out with mock-confusion, giving my clit a distinct little tap to prove his point. I groaned irritably, battling to retain some semblance of wit as his fingers began swirling even faster across my swollen bud.

“U-ugh in me…in me, please!” I whimpered, sounding far more desperate than I had intended. What can I say? Two whole weeks without orgasms just wasn’t the norm for me anymore.

“Ah, very well. But then…what’s going to keep your desperate little clit occupied?” he teased, his fingers slipping down to press tauntingly at my entrance.

I out and out growled.

“You h-have ten fi-ingers!”

“True, but one hand is going to be otherwise engaged very soon, and I wouldn’t ever wish to leave you wanting, darling,” he purred, his free hand brushing somewhat threateningly over my backside.

I sighed loudly.

“Don’t despair, darling. I have the perfect solution to our little quandary,” he declared, his amused tone kindling my ire. ‘You bloody downright tease just get me off goddammit!’

“Remember this?” He enquired, holding up an object. I turned my head, peering out of the corner of my eye-

It was the fucking vibrator of doom. ‘Death by orgasm’ vibrator.

‘I am so fucked.’

I whimpered pathetically, my nether-regions seeming to pulse as I recalled the power of that thing in action.

“Ah, I see you do remember, quite well,” Tom remarked, his face a picture of smug devilry. ‘Bastard. Handsome, sexy, ridiculously attractive bastard.’

“Tom, please,” I breathed, not sure exactly what I was begging him for. Begging him not to use the vibe, or begging him to drive me wild with it that very instant.

Tom must have sensed my quandary, because he simply laughed throatily and pressed the smooth head of the toy into my folds, running it up and down a few times to get it nice and wet.

I shrieked as it buzzed to life, zooming up to press almost cruelly against my clit until I was a panting, writhing mess. I knew better than to come without permission, but damn was it ever tempting to throw the rules out the window.

Mercifully, Tom’s excellent timing saved me from a scorched bottom. He dragged the vibe up, patiently swirling and dipping it into my entrance until my resistance gave way and it slid (with almost embarrassing ease) inside me to the hilt. I moaned faintly as my core muscles clenched around the intrusion, a movement which, combined with Tom’s skilful manoeuvrings on the outside, resulted in the curved head of the toy nestling right against my g-spot. ‘Marvellous.’

I pressed my face into the duvet, crying out helplessly as my spine arched in response to the intensity of the vibrations humming inside me. My thoughts felt hot and sticky and red as they pulsed dazedly around my head, too engulfed in pleasure and sensation to pay much attention.

“Charlotte.” Tom’s open palm smacked against my bum, jolting me partially back into the here-and-now.

“Stay with me, love. I want you to focus. I will let you orgasm, and soon. But I want you to wait. Can you do that for me?” he asked, his voice almost soft despite the firm command behind it.

I clenched my eyes and my jaw, attempting to relax my muscles. ‘Focus… Focus…’

“Yes, Tom,” I whined breathlessly, not entirely sure I could make good on that promise.

I had been so lost to the thrall of the vibrator that I hadn’t noticed his attentions had moved northwards. His lube-slicken fingers resumed their ministrations, patiently preparing my back entrance for the plug. It was a lot going on; the steady, tantalizing hum of the vibrator, his fingers probing a spot that was both incredibly arousing and slightly uncomfortable, his other hand stroking gently along my spine, my bound arms, and my sides.

Once he was satisfied (and I was mere seconds from spontaneously combusting on his bed) that I was ready, Tom gently pressed the blunt head of the plug against my opening, applying the most tightly controlled pressure as my body naturally fought against the intrusion. The mangled, desire-soaked state of my mind made it hard to concentrate, but I did my very best to generate deep breathes and relax, just as we’d been practicing for several weeks. Tom’s left hand squeezed my bottom reassuringly as the plug finally began to sink in, and I groaned as the feeling of tightness down below ratcheted up by about 200%.

“Good girl, Charlotte. You’re doing wonderfully,” Tom murmured, stroking my lower back softly as the widest part of the plug began to seek entrance, making me squirm and whimper slightly. It really was a heck of a lot bigger than I (and my body) was used to. Tom’s free hand skimmed beneath the vibe, tracing patterns on my clit that made my eyes roll and my jaw drop open. Et voila, the plug was in place before I even knew it.

“Brilliant, love, just brilliant,” Tom whispered reverently, sparking a flicker of pride within me. I jumped slightly as his fingers tapped curiously against the base of the plug; I felt split open, and full, and fucking incredible.

“Tom,” I whined, wanting to remind him of the toe-curling orgasm he had promised me. He chuckled darkly, knowing exactly what I was getting at. My entire body jolted as the vibrator kicked up a notch, several of Tom’s fingers coming down to rub and pinch and pet my clit. It was a bloody sensory overload, but in the best way possible.

“Come, Charlotte. Let me see you fall apart, darling,” Tom growled, demanding my pleasure.

My orgasm slammed into me without warning, so strong and fierce and overwhelming that it actually rendered me silent, my mouth hanging open in empty wonder as lights swirled behind my clenched eyelids.

I was panting like a bloodhound by the time I came down. Tom had untied my wrists and rolled me onto my back. And removed the vibe, thankfully. He grasped my hands in his, leaning down to press gentle kisses along my wrists, massaging and checking for any damage.

“Are you back?” He asked, almost sweetly, if not for the pride clearly glittering in his darkened eyes. I nodded, not quite trusting myself to form actual words for a moment or two.

I stared dreamily at the ceiling as Tom fetched a couple of tissues, wiping the sweat from my face and neck.

“Thanks,” I whispered, smiling at him.

“You’re welcome, love. Are you up to continuing? Do you need a breather?” he enquired, cupping my flushed face in his hand. I shook my head, flattered by his concern.

“No, I’m good. Better than good, I’m bloody fantastic,” I replied, grinning impishly as he roared with laughter.

“Thank goodness for that, because if I don’t have you right now, I kid you not, I might just die of longing,” he purred, leaning over me and nibbling my lower lip. I reached my newly-freed hands up, nimbly unbuttoning his shirt and pushing it off his lovely broad shoulders.

Tom stepped back, shucking off his shoes and shimmying out of his suit trousers. He wasn’t wearing boxers, as per usual. I unconsciously licked my lips as my eyes drifted down his long, lean torso, settling on his straining, almost purple cock.

I expected him to come and lie over me, but he simply sat at the edge of the bed beside me. I frowned up at him in confusion. He grinned in response, running his tongue over his teeth and patting the top of his thigh enticingly. ‘Am I in for a spanking?’ I wondered, sitting up and shimmying to the edge of the bed. Before I could lay stomach-down over his lap, Tom grabbed me firmly around the waist, positioning me to straddle over him. ‘Oh. I rather like this better.’

He pulled my hands to rest at the back of his neck, and I happily sunk my fingers into the dark hair at his nape. His palm splayed over my back, pulling me closer, until our noses were almost touching.

‘Ooh, what pretty eyes you have.’ I could clearly see the flecks of gold at the top of his left iris, even in spite of how heavily dilated his pupils were.

Without taking his eyes off mine, Tom reached between us, guiding the head of his cock against my entrance. I rocked and swirled my hips, gratified by the low moan that seemed to creep unbidden from deep in his throat. His hands caught and held me still, pulling me down until he sank inside me up to the hilt.

I gasped, resting my forehead against his, overwhelmed once more by the intense feeling of fullness; this time even greater, due to the combination of the plug and his cock. One of his hands tangled in my hair, the other reaching around my lower back, catching the opposite hip and holding me in a tight grip as he gently lifted me up and down in a relaxed, languid pace…as if we had all the time in the world.


	22. Chapter 22

“Good news!” Saranya trilled, gliding into the living room like a prom queen with a mega-watt grin on her face.

“Ooh what is it?” I enquired, pausing the episode of  _Breaking Bad_  on my laptop.

 “I got the internship at  _Elle_!” she squealed jumping up and down ecstatically.

“Oh my God! Are you serious?” I screeched in response, leaping up to catch her in a dancing, jumping hug. It had been Sara’s dream to work for a big fashion mag for years, and I was beyond thrilled for her.

“Yes! Now I don’t have to take that boring grad job in Essex and I can keep living with you!” She laughed, smiling so hard I thought her face might burst.

“Oh! That is great!” I breathed, trying not to sound anything less than enthusiastic. If truth be told, I had been all but living with Tom over the summer, and I had tacitly assumed that if I did indeed find myself short of a flatmate in September that I would be more than welcome at the Hiddleston residence. I’m a little embarrassed to say that I was actually a bit hopeful about the thought of moving in with Tom, even if, logically speaking, it was a bit soon in the relationship. But then, logic was best  _not_  applied to our relationship, in my humble opinion.

“Uh huh, and will I actually be  _seeing_  any of you in the coming months?” she teased, winking and nudging me gently in the ribs.

It was a running joke for Sara that any time she saw me in the flat, she had to make a big show of ‘welcoming me back to reality’. Like I said, I really was spending 99% of my time at Tom’s but…well, why the hell not? It was a much larger, more comfortably equipped home in a much nicer area near to the centre of the City….ah, who am I kidding? I was there for the six feet and two inches of sex on (very long) legs that went by the name of Thomas W. Hiddleston.

“Yes, smarty pants. You will indeed. In fact, you’ll be sick of the sight of me, I promise.”

“Yeah, right. That’ll only happen if Prince Rich-and-Charming decides to move in here. And I  _really_  don’t see that happening…considering it would mean I actually get to  _meet_ him, which the fates have not yet aligned to make possible,” she complained, pouting at me like a sulking five-year old.

“I know, I’m sorry! It’s hard to get a time that suits everyone,” I supplied lamely, flopping down onto the squishy sofa again.

“Hmph. Well, I will make you a list of all the times I’m free to meet Mr Lawyer, and then you can confer with him and choose one that is acceptable to us all. Okay?” she stated, sounding for all the world like the smartest, wiliest lawyer herself. Seriously, how do you argue or evade something like that?

“Sounds good,” I said, not entirely meaning it, but not dreading the prospect of Tom and Sara meeting in the flesh as I once was. Tom was becoming a big fixture in my life, and as the time wore on, I begrudgingly realised that keeping him separated from my ‘real life’ just wasn’t going to be feasible forever. ‘ _And besides, he’s met Nana twice now. Him meeting Sara won’t be so bad. I‘ll just remind him not to mention how we ‘met’ or the money situation, and then it will all go swimmingly._ ’

Nana had settled into the care home with as much gusto as I could have hoped for, but even so, I decided to take a short day trip down to visit her a couple of weeks into her stay and make sure everything really  _was_  okay. And Tom, bless him, so amused by Nana’s desire to see him again, consented to driving me over to Somerset. I swear to God, the eyes of every woman in the large sitting area – ancient old ladies, middle-aged nurses and the young student interns- almost popped out of their heads when Tom sauntered into the room in his standard sinfully tight shirt and equally tight suit trousers. I had a perfect vantage point, following directly behind him, and could barely contain my giggles at their stricken expressions; seeing how badly other people were affected by him made me feel better about being perpetually weak-kneed and giggly.

“I’ll talk it over with him tomorrow, I promise. Fancy getting me another cuppa while you’re on your feet?” I said, grinning cheekily at her as she flicked her hair and mock-stomped into the kitchen.

*

“Have you been in bed all day?” Tom enquired, smirking at me as I lay in  _his_ bed at five in the afternoon, still in my PJs.

“Nooo…okay, maybe. Don’t judge me. I felt like a duvet day,” I explained, turning off the TV. “I thought you’d be pleased with the idea of me being in your bed all day,” I added, slyly. Tom grinned.

“Oh yes, it’s a delightful idea. But it’s only fun if I’m actually in bed  _with_  you.”

 “You’ve been working crazy hours lately,” I pointed out, not wanting to sound too clingy or overbearing. I knew Tom was busy running a highly successful law firm, but his twelve to fifteen hour days had started to become more and more frequent in the past two weeks, and he seemed exhausted, which meant less opportunity for getting down and dirty.

“I know. There have been a lot of cases piling up, people not doing their jobs properly…” he huffed under his breath, sounding more frustrated by the second as he peeled off his suit jacket and tie. I bit my lip, watching with rapt attention as he carefully removed his cuff links and began rolling his shirtsleeves up.  ‘ _Why is that so goddam sexy?’_

“I’m giving myself the day off on Wednesday. Would you like to do something or go somewhere in particular?” Tom enquired. I patted the space on the bed beside me in a (hopefully) enticing manner. He grinned, shucking off his shoes and lying down beside me, curling me against his side immediately.

“How about a musical?” I suggested, trying not to laugh at the pinched expression that immediately appeared on Tom’s face. “Maybe,  _Wicked_?”

“You’re the one who’s wicked, my little minx,” Tom growled, pinning me down and grazing his teeth along my throat. My laughter became a bit breathless after that.

“Okay, so I take that reaction as a firm ‘no’?” I prodded, teasing him even further. Tom sighed dramatically, a smile curling at the edges of his mouth.

“I  _suppose_  I could endure two and half hours of caterwauling for you, love. But…you’d owe me.  _Big time_ ,” he purred, winking salaciously at me in case I didn’t catch his tone. I stuck my tongue out at him.

“Yes,  _that_  would definitely be involved,” he whispered, leaning down to catch it with his own.

I pulled away from his eager lips, humming contentedly as they slipped down over my jaw instead.

“How about a cultural date, then? I’d quite like to go to Windsor Castle, and the forest, too. I’ve never been. We could take a picnic,” I mused, pulling his shirttails from his trousers and sneaking my hands under to stroke his warm, muscled back.

“Perfect,” he said, instantly, no doubt afraid that I would revert to  _Wicked._

“It’s a date,” I confirmed, smiling.

“Oh, before I forget. Saranya was badgering me about meeting you yesterday,” I told him, amused by the easy smile that immediately graced his tired features.

“Well, I can’t blame her. I am pretty stellar company, if I do say so myself.”

“Self-praise is no recommendation,” I recited, prodding him gently in the ribs. “When would suit you?” Tom rubbed his hand over his face, his eyes rolled up in thought as he consulted his inner diary of engagements.

“I reckon I’m going to be almost flat-out for the next three weeks, but after that, I’m all yours.”

“And Saranya’s,” I reminded him, grabbing the phone on the bedside table to check the dates that Ms Social Butterfly was free.

“Where…? Oops, this is your phone!”  I giggled, after puzzling over where my text thread to Sara had vanished. I rooted around under the duvet, eventually locating my own iPhone. “How about…the 10th?”

Tom frowned. “This Sunday?”

“No. The 10th of September. I know it’s pretty far away, but you’re both so busy!”

“10th of September it is. Can’t wait,” Tom said, rising up to kiss me softly on the lips before climbing off the bed to hang up his suit jacket.

I fired Saranya a quick text, telling her to keep 10/09 free for the Big Reveal. I absently reached up, rubbing at my tired eyes; for some reason, I had been looking a bit like a bloodhound of late, and despite pegging it down to hay fever at first, the recent appearance of headaches made me suspect it was something else.

Unfortunately, Tom just  _had_  to notice that innocuous little gesture. Telling him that my eyes had been bugging me had turned into a big ol’ mistake- now  _he_ was bugging me more than they were, constantly asking me about them and nagging me like I was a child.

“Are your eyes still hurting you?” he asked, unbuttoning his shirt and looking at me disapprovingly as I groaned dramatically at his words. “You spend too much time on the computer every day, I told you that. You need to go to an ophthalmologist. Perhaps you need glasses-”

“Hey! I do not need glasses. My vision is 20/20,” I sulked, rolling onto my front and burrowing my face in his pillow. Apparently, treating me like a child was making me act like one.

“Really? When did you last get your eyes checked?” Tom enquired, sitting on the bed beside me.

I shrugged my shoulders indifferently. “Like…I don’t remember. Maybe five years ago?”

His hand collided with my ass without warning, making me jump and shriek indignantly. “Fuck! What was that for?” I whined, rubbing the sore spot and moving away from the range of his hand. Tom simply observed me coolly.

“For being careless. And if you don’t make an appointment to get your eyes checked within the next two weeks, there’ll be a lot more of those to come,” he warned me.

“Okay,  _okay_. Sheesh, I’ll put a reminder in my phone. Happy?”

“Ecstatic,” he remarked, words dripping in irony. I stuck my tongue out at him, thinking myself in the safe zone, but his freakishly long arms shot out, catching me as I tried to scramble off the other side of the bed. He pinned my body beneath his, straddling my hips and catching my hands in one of his, leaving the other to tickle me until I begged for mercy.

“ _Ah-ah!_  P-please! Stoooop!”

“Oh I don’t know about that. This is rather fun,” he replied fiendishly, his fingers dancing up to tickle my neck.

“I-I’ll make you d-dinner! Whatever you w-want!” I cried piteously, wriggling to try and dislodge him. No such luck, lithe though he was, he still weighed an absolute ton.

“Hmmmm,” Tom tilted his head, pretending to consider the offer while his hand continued to tickle me. “Well,  _alright_. If you really insist,” he conceded, stopping the torture. I gasped for breath, playfully glaring up at him.

“I do. Now let me go,” I said, firmly. Tom grinned wolfishly, leaning down until our noses almost touched.

“Are you giving me a command, little one?” he taunted, his hand catching the bottom of my top and pulling it up again, his fingers beginning to whisper over my belly. I bit my lip, staring him out resolutely. He grinned wider then pressed his lips to mine, prying my mouth open and sucking my tongue into his mouth. He ground his hips against mine as he kissed me senseless, leaving me flushed and gasping for breath when he finally pulled away with a triumphant smirk.

“Who’s in charge?”

I pouted, earning myself a sharp pinch on the bum.

“You are,” I conceded, reluctantly. Another pinch.

“You are, Tom,” I repeated, with a bit more conviction that time.

“You’d do well to remember that, my Charlotte,” he murmured darkly, nuzzling his nose against mine.

“Or what?” I teased, grinning impishly up at him as I bumped my hips up against his. My fight hadn’t left me completely- or, at least, that was what I  _wanted_  him to think. His tough work schedule had been leaving little time for  _playing_  and I very much wanted to remedy that.

“Are you vying for a spanking?” he asked, his voice laced with warning, but his eyes sparkled with amusement.

“As long as you fuck me afterwards, I’ll even take the paddle,” I promised sweetly, watching his pupils dilate at that suggestion- he knew rightly how much I  _loathed_  when he used the paddle, but I really was resolved to do whatever necessary.

“ _Ah_. So that’s what this is about. You. Want. To.  _Fuck_ ,” Tom purred, nipping my bottom lip between his sharp teeth. I lifted my hips, rolling them against the growing bulge in his trousers.

“Yes, please.”

“I’ve been neglecting you, haven’t I?” he asked, softly now, stroking a strand of hair off my temple. I smothered a smile, nodding solemnly and sorrowfully.

“Three whole days,” I sighed wistfully, committing to the ‘hard done by’ girlfriend routine.

“Has it really been so long? That is simply unacceptable,” Tom tutted, as if scolding himself. I nodded in agreement.

“Hmmm. I shall have to make it up to you in some way,” he mused, thoughtfully tracing his thumb along my lips.

“Well,  _alright_. If you really insist,” I giggled, parroting his earlier words. He grinned wickedly, his eyes gleaming with sordid promise.

“Do you want to have dinner first?” he asked, setting me off into another fit of giggles, in spite of the sweetness of his concern. I demonstrably rolled my hips against his again, highlighting the distinct argument in opposition to having dinner first.

“No, I’m fine, thanks. You?”

There was that devilish smirk I loved so much.

“I’m hungry for something other than food,” he growled lowly, catching my lips with his in another searing kiss.

“Now…what  _shall_  I do with you?” he pondered aloud, his voice laced with filthy promise. At that point, anything he wanted to do to me would have been just fine, but I did have something rather specific preying on my mind.

“Can I make a suggestion?” Tom nodded instantly.

“Of course, love. Anything.”

“I think I’m ready,” I whispered, watching the momentary confusion on his face slide to outright lust before transforming to cool-headed concern.

“Charlotte, that is wonderful to hear. But I want you to be sure,” he told me firmly, brushing the backs of his fingers over my cheek.

“Do you think I’m ready?” I enquired, interested to hear what he thought. Not that he would allow it to happen if he wasn’t certain I  _was_  ready.

“I do. Although what you think, what you  _know_  yourself is most important.”

We had been diligently working towards the ‘end goal’ for a solid month, and my pre-conceived ideas about anal sex had been turned on their head the very first night we started experimenting. We had been using thicker and longer plugs of late, and the orgasms that they provided (combined with Tom’s prowess, of course) had been nothing short of mind-blowing.

‘ _But am I ready to go all the way?’_  It was funny how much my feelings reminded me of when I lost my virginity- nervous, excited, a little scared and full of anticipation. I looked up at Tom, watching me carefully as I sorted through my thoughts, patiently waiting on my answer. He was always so considerate, and had done his utmost to make me feel comfortable even as we experimented with something I had been sure I would never wish to try. It wasn’t a hard decision to make, in the end. I trusted him.

“Yes, I am ready,” I replied, firmly.

A broad grin split like the sun across Tom’s face, and he kissed me again, pouring all of his own anticipation and excitement into my mouth.

“God, you have no idea how much I’ve fantasised about this,” he confessed, his voice husky and breathless against my lips.

I giggled. “Ditto.”

Tom laughed throatily, finally releasing my wrists and climbing off the bed, making a beeline for the trunk. I pushed myself up onto my elbows, craning to see what he was going to choose.

“No peeking,” he scolded, glancing up at me.  I folded my arms, dramatically huffing and turning my head to the side.

“Dear dear, someone is feeling bratty this evening,” he purred, in a manner that made my stomach flutter at the idea of actually ending up with a spanking and nothing else. Not at all what I wanted.

“Someone has been terribly neglected, of late,” I reminded him, tartly.

“You are my greedy little girl, aren’t you?” he hummed proudly, moving to the side of the bed and dropping a few items onto the duvet.

“Can I look yet?”

“Of course,” he said, oh-so-sweetly- before slipping a blindfold over my eyes.

“Hey! That was so sneaky,” I whined, as he began deftly pulling the oversized t-shirt over my head - that was the height of my ‘pyjamas’.

“Is this mine?” I was surprised it had taken him so long to notice, frankly.

“Yes. I wanted something to lounge around in, so I borrowed it.”

“Little thief,” he growled with faux menace, gently pushing me onto my back. His warm hands slid across my shoulders and collarbones, descending to pinch and roll my nipples between his fingers. I let out a startled shriek at his sudden roughness, but he soothed the action by taking each swollen little bud into his mouth and lovingly sucking them as I grasped his head, carding my fingers through his thick hair.

Tom’s mouth immediately left my skin, eliciting a rather disappointed groan from me. “ _Hands_ ,” he scolded sharply. I bit my tongue, sneakily rolling my eyes behind the blindfold as I stretched up and grasped the leather cuffs now permanently attached to the headboard.

As soon as I had completed my instruction, Tom resumed patterning my torso with kisses and licks and bites, my muscles jumping and shivering as he moved further down, until his mouth was hovering over my core. His tongue darted out, languidly licking a wide stripe through my folds. My mouth dropped open, a strangled moan erupting from deep in my throat. Maybe having to wait three days was actually going to prove to be advantageous- I was so sensitive to everything he did that I was about ready to come even then.

Not that Tom was ever going to allow that, because, let’s be frank: the man just _loved_  tormenting me. Or, as he liked to call it: teaching me ‘delayed gratification’. Just as I was about to protest, Tom’s hands pressed my inner thighs, parting my legs as widely as physically possible. I dutifully held that position, despite the trembling that started in my muscles almost immediately. He grasped one ankle, carefully bending my leg until the back of my calf pressed against the back of my thigh, before fastening a swathe of fabric around my limbs to hold them in place. After he had repeated the same motions with my other leg, I was well and truly immobilised  _and_  exposed.

“Comfortable, love?” Tom enquired, running a finger beneath the straps, checking them for nipping.

“Yes, Tom,” I sighed in reply, surprisingly relaxed in spite of the strange positioning of my legs. Tom was about to give me some toe-curling pleasure, and I frankly didn’t give a flying fuck what way he wanted me.

I heard the all too familiar ‘click’ of the lube bottle, and prepared myself for the cool liquid that Tom’s fingers slathered all over my folds, and down towards my ass. I took a deep breath, relaxing my muscles as the tip of Tom’s slick finger pressed against my entrance, my smile of pride as it slipped in with ease being quickly overtaken by a flurry of guttural moans as he began gently thrusting it inside me. His other hand busied itself with my clit, massaging and pinching in equal measure; in short, distracting me and my body as he curled a second finger into my ass, scissoring and stretching with practiced care for several minutes. By that point I was gripping the cuffs so tightly it was a wonder they hadn’t simply ripped off in my hands. Tom’s fingers retracted, and the cool glass head of the plug rocked against my opening, patiently working its way inside until my inner muscles took over and all but sucked it in.

“ _Wonderful_ , Charlotte. You took that so well,” Tom said, his praise making me glow with giddy delight.

“Thank you, Tom.”

“Now, what was that you said earlier? Ah yes,  _three whole days_  was it? You’re definitely due an orgasm or two, wouldn’t you agree?” He purred, the palm of his hand cupping my wet, swollen sex.

“Yes, Tom,” I replied, eagerly.

“Do you want my mouth on you?”

“Yes, Tom.  _Please_.”

“Come now, Charlotte. You can do better than that,” he chided, idly swiping a digit between my folds. I growled with frustration, gripping the cuffs even tighter.

“Tom, please. I need you to lick my cunt and suck my clit until I come. I need you  _so_  badly,” I whined, attempting to roll my hips in demonstration, despite how tightly restrained I was.

The seconds ticked by as I waited for his response.

“Give me your hands, darling,” Tom commanded softly. I instantly reached down, smiling as he caught my hands in his and threaded our fingers together, resting them on the duvet by my hips.

He buried his face between my legs, letting out soft grunts and groans as he utterly devoured me. Tom is the absolute  _master_  of oral, and he never does the same thing for more than a few beats; he constantly switched between licking in stripes or zigzags or spirals, sucking on my clit or lapping it with his tongue, carefully grazing his teeth against my swollen labia, teasing around my entrance with the tip of his tongue…on and on and on until I was a puddle of goo screaming his name for everyone in West London to hear.

Tom placed a tender, lingering kiss to my folds, and began deftly freeing my legs from their restraints. I lay perfectly still, floating in a cloud of ecstasy and trying to catch my breath while I had the opportunity.

I felt the bed shift as Tom leaned over me, gently lifting my head and untying my blindfold.

“Hello again,” he said, his eyes twinkling with mischief as they met mine.

“Mmm…Hi. I missed you,” I murmured, smiling and stretching up for a kiss, which he immediately obliged.

“Still certain?” He enquired, brushing a few damp strands of hair off my forehead. I felt my heart warm at his words; the man was practically  _busting_  with anticipation, his whole body giving off nothing but pure excitement, and yet he was still thinking of my comfort first.

“Yes. Completely.” He kissed me again, harder this time, as if he couldn’t quite hide how overwhelmed he felt. Or maybe it was just  _me_  who was feeling overwhelmed.

Tom pushed the blindfold and restraints unceremoniously off the bed, his shirt and trousers swiftly following. He squirted a large dollop of lube into his palm, shuddering slightly as he gripped his near-purple shaft, generously coating it. I sat up, eager to assist, but when I reached out to stroke his cock he quickly caught my wrist, pressing a kiss to my palm.

“Better not,” he explained, somewhat apologetically. If anything, I was mollified by how far gone he was simply from pleasuring me.

He tossed the bottle onto the floor with everything else, and fixed me with the hungriest stare I think he’d ever given me. His tongue darted out to wet his lips as he issued another command.

“Lie on your side, baby,” he intoned softly. I blinked in surprise, having assumed that he would want to take me on my hands and knees, but I nonetheless did as instructed.

Tom settled behind me, leaving a slight gap, and delicately traced soothing patterns along my spine, kneading and massaging my back muscles and my butt until I was, once again, putty in his hands.

“And relax, darling,” he murmured, carefully beginning to ease out the plug. I focussed on my breathing, counting slowly and purposefully not thinking about the plug at all.

And then, it was gone. Tom pressed the full length of his body against my back, his cock nestled at the dip between my buttocks. He reached down, hooking a hand behind my knee and slowly drawing it up.

“Can you bring your knees up to your chest? Is that comfortable?” His voice whispered across my ear, sending a shiver through me.

“Yes, Tom,” I replied, doing so with ease.

“Remember, Charlotte. I want you to use your safe word the  _second_  it becomes too much, alright?”

“Yes, Tom. I will, I promise.”

“That’s my good girl,” he murmured, kissing the spot behind my ear. I felt his hand slip between our bodies, and then, the hot, wet head of his cock brushing against my entrance. I gripped the duvet tightly in my hand, as if steadying myself. Tom’s other hand stroked my hair, tenderly massaging my scalp. I gasped softly as he entered me, but it was from anticipation and sensation rather than pain; thanks to all our practice, and the plug, I could handle his girth fine.

“We’re just taking it slow and easy for now, darling,” he assured me, his voice sounding distinctly gravelly as he held himself under tight control, rocking his hips slightly and carefully dipping a bit further inside me.

“Alright, love?”

“Yes, Tom. It feel so good, please don’t stop,” I moaned, breathlessly, feeling a further spark of arousal as Tom groaned loudly at my confession. His hand came to rest possessively on my hip as he gradually moved farther inside me, still retaining the same gentle pace and strength of thrusting. His self-control was astonishing, considering I knew how badly he wanted to pound into me until we both saw stars. I reached down, grabbing his hand off my hip and holding it to my chest, letting him feel the way my heartbeat thundered.

As promised, he took it slowly, rolling his hips with utmost patience until he was finally seated fully inside me. We both froze at that moment, our mutual sounds of appreciation mingling.

“Fuck, you feel amazing.”

He slowly pulled out, thrusting forward with more gusto than he had hitherto used; my eyes rolled in my head and my hand flew up, burying itself in his hair as my whole body arched into him. He pulled out more with each thrust, letting me feel every inch of him as he slid in and out. I was floating on cloud nine, moaning and sighing and gasping like there was no tomorrow. It was hard to believe that I had ever thought I  _wouldn’t_  want to do this. ‘ _I could have missed out on this…fuck! Thank god I changed my mind. That was a hell of a good decision’_.

Juts when I thought it couldn’t really get any better, Tom kicked things up a notch. The frequency of his grunts and groans alerted me to the fact that he was nearing the end, but his movements were as tightly controlled as ever; I understood that he couldn’t safely let himself go in the same way he did when we were having… _traditional_  sex. His left hand tangled in my hair, pulling my head around so that he could capture my lips in a spine-tingling kiss just as his other hand slipped from my chest, skimming over the curve of my hip and pressing in between my legs.

My orgasm slammed into me not seconds after he slid two curled fingers inside my cunt, the heel of his palm rubbing against my clit with practiced skill. That was always what did it for me when we had only been ‘experimenting’ with the plugs: feeling so full of him was without a doubt the fool proof way for me to have the most mind-numbing, toe-curling, scream-worthy orgasms.

As I shuddered and quaked, shrieking his name, Tom pulled out and succumbed to his own release, spilling across my lower back and butt. Judging from his own hoarse cry, it was one of the best orgasms he had ever had, too.

“ _Wow_ ,” I sighed, dreamily, eager to keep on floating in my little bubble of post-sex ecstasy for as long as possible. I could hear Tom breathing heavily behind me, and I could feel his warm hand soothingly stroking down my sides, his face buried in my hair as he tried to collect himself.

After a few minutes, he gently rolled me onto my back, stroking my face and neck, speaking softly as he tried to bring me back down to earth.

“Are you alright, love? How do you feel?”

“Bloody fantastic,” I told him, happily. “Why haven’t we always been doing that? That was so amazing- can we do it again?” I babbled, trying to sit up. Tom laughed at my enthusiasm, gently pressing my shoulders so that I lay down again and kissing me softly on the forehead.

“Stay here,” he commanded, heading to the bathroom and returning with a damp towel and a glass of water, both of which he administered to me. “You’re right, it was incredible. And  _of course_  we can do it again, darling. Not right now, though. Give a man some time to rest, will you?” He grinned, barely able to contain his amusement as my eyes lit up with hope. I pouted forlornly, but really I was only joking myself- I needed to sleep for about 12 hours straight after what he had just done to me.

When we were both suitably cleaned up and relaxed, we shimmied under the duvet for some much-needed spooning.

“Thank you, Charlotte,” Tom whispered, his lips tickling the edge of my ear. I wriggled back against him, holding his arms tight around me.

“I should be the one thanking you,” I retorted, smiling cheekily.

Tom laughed gruffly, but then his voice turned serious. “I mean it, truly. Thank you for trusting me, the whole way through this. Knowing how you felt at the beginning, and how far you’ve come with me…it means a lot,” he said quietly, something in his tone making my eyes prick with tears. Vulnerable Tom was a rarity, so I understood just  _how_  much it meant to him, by dint of the fact that he was even telling me. I pulled his arms off me, rolling round to face him and winding my arms around his neck.

“You’re welcome. And thank you for being so patient and wonderful with me. I’m really glad we did this together,” I replied, kissing the dip at the base of his throat. “And, you know what they say…”

“What’s that?” Tom asked with a quirk of his eyebrow. I leant back to grin up at him, giving him a saucy wink.

“You never forget your first.”


	23. Chapter 23

Countdown: t minus fourteen days until summer officially ended.

For me, anyway. And typically, the delightful British weather had decided  to turn nigh-apocolyptic- meaning that I simply _had_ to stay huddled up under a pile of blankets in Tom’s living room all day. It could get a bit boring, lounging around all day, waiting for Tom to come home at some ungodly hour or other. I felt like a sad little dog, missing its owner.

“Charlotte, where are you?”

“In the den!” I called, attempting to pull myself into a sitting position on the sofa, but then giving up. I had to be resigned to the fact that I looked like a slob; lounging around his house all day, surrounded by blankets, empty cups of tea and the biscuit tin. Not that he wasn’t well used to my near-permanent presence, by that stage.

I smiled sheepishly as Tom came through the door, looking immaculate as ever in a dark petrol-blue three-piece suit. It was only as he came closer that I noticed how exhausted he looked, the purplish shadows under his eyes clashing with the blue of his suit.

“Hey, how are you?” I asked, reaching up for him. He leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss to my scalp, holding me against his chest for a long moment.

“Tired, but all the better for seeing you,” he replied. I nuzzled against him, squeezing him tighter; I loved his hugs, so warm and solid.

“Did you get that final case all sorted in the end?” As he straightened up, his eyes flickered with amusement when they spotted the biscuit tin held hostage beside me.

“Yes. At-fucking-last. I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to see the end of a working day,” he confessed, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“I left your dinner in the oven. Do you want it now?” I asked, tugging off my blanket and beginning to collect the mugs scattered around the sofa.

“That would be fantastic, thank you. I’m just going to run upstairs and change.” He caught my cheek in his warm palm, tilting my face up and kissing me slowly. I gave a little sigh of happiness when he pulled away, delighted to finally see an end to his insane work schedule.

Tom appeared in the kitchen minutes later, slobbing it up along with me in his hoodie and jogging bottoms. He positively wolfed down his dinner; when I pried the empty plate away from him I thought he might try to lick it clean. _‘No wonder he’s starving. I’d have eaten an employee if I had to wait til ten at night to have dinner.’_

We had our customary post-dinner cups of tea and migrated back into the cosy den to watch a bit of TV before bed. Tom didn’t say it, but I knew he really wanted to just collapse into bed and sleep for days.

We watched the old movie on screen in silence for almost half an hour, huddled together on the sofa, before Tom suddenly spoke. “Charlotte, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something… _financial_.”

I tensed, pulling my eyes from the TV screen to peer up at him from the corner of my eye.

“Oh, okay. What is it?” I replied, affecting a tone of nonchalance.

“I was checking my accounts, all of them, including our shared one and I noticed that you’d paid out rather a large sum to Oaktree Hill at the start of the month,” he explained, his voice as perfectly neutral as my own.

‘ _Busted’_. I have to admit, I had rather hoped my deception would last slightly longer than it did, but of course, I had forgotten that the account where Tom sent my ‘allowance’ to was also accessible to _him_. If I’d have had any sense, I would have moved the money into my own current account and he wouldn’t have been any the wiser. Hindsight is a fine thing.

“Oh, uh…yes, I did,” I supplied, lamely. I didn’t quite know what to say. He wasn’t asking me a question, or getting angry. Just stating a fact.

“May I ask what they needed you to pay three grand for?” Tom enquired, his voice taking on a deceptively silky edge.

I sighed, shifting away from him. “That’s how much the residence fees are per month.”

Tom tilted his head, looking at me with faux innocence. “I was under the impression that the government covered the fees. That’s what you told me, isn’t it?” He said, nonchalantly. I resisted the urge to punch his face, smugness becoming faintly visible in his expression. He had me, the bastard.

I sighed in defeat. “Yes, Tom. That is what I told you.”

“Why didn’t you tell me the truth?” He asked, suddenly sounding a little wounded.

“Because I knew you’d interfere! And I have enough to cover it. It’s fine,” I said, defensively. Tom pursed his lips, readying an argument.

“Really, I have more than enough. My expenses are well below a grand per month now, especially considering I’m eating all your food,” I added, grinning mischievously.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed. I’ll have to invoice you, my little food thief,” he growled, his long fingers gripping my sides and threatening to tickle me to death. I squealed, trying to escape his clutches, but he was apparently too tired to start a tickle war and left off after giving me a light pinch on my side.

“Promise me, that if you _do_ require a little more money to help with your grandmother’s fees…with anything, that you’ll come to me, Charlotte,” he said softly, snaring my eyes with his own so that he could tell if I was lying.

“I promise, Tom. Thank you,” I assured him, kissing the side of his neck and cuddling up against his chest again.

A sex scene flickered onto the TV screen, and I felt my own body react instantly, warming and fizzing slightly as the woman straddled the man on the rickety bed, pulling her blouse over her head with gay abandon, rolling her hips against his. Tom’s busy schedule had severely depleted our sex life, enough that even a relatively tame sex scene in a film could send me into horny overdrive. I could feel Tom’s body tensing beneath me, perhaps in response to my own reaction, which I knew he would have noticed.

Conscious of how tired Tom was, I attempted to diffuse the rather heady atmosphere that seemed to have formed in the dark den as the pair onscreen got down and dirty.

“How come you never let me be on top?” I enquired jokingly, tilting my head to gesture at the TV. Tom chuckled, his arm contracting to squeeze me even tighter against him.

“I rather like having you pinned underneath me,” he growled, nibbling the edge of my ear and pulling me into his lap. I giggled, only half-attempting to push him away.

“Can I tie you up sometime?” I asked, not sure how he’d react to the idea. I didn’t really want to dominate Tom, not properly, but tying him up and having my wicked way with him could be a lot of fun.

Tom threw his head back, laughing. I pouted, knotting my fingers in his hair and reaching up to lightly bite along the exposed arch of his neck. The action took him by surprise; he let out a small gasp, his eyes visibly dilated as they flickered down to mine.

“You’re welcome to any time, darling. But you’ll have to catch me by yourself,” he said, grinning wickedly at me. I huffed, pouting and folding my arms; we both knew I had _no_ chance of pinning Tom down long enough to tie him up.

“Fine, I’ll take you up on that offer,” I declared, stretching my hand out for a formal shake. Tom gripped my hand in his, the size difference reminding me just how hopeless my little fantasy was. I was going to have to play dirty.

I spent the next couple of days planning my coup. I filched the sturdy leather cuffs (with attached chain) from the chest, praying to God that Tom wouldn’t suddenly decide to use them on _me._ Mercifully, he was content to use the cuffs already attached to the headboard, but I knew from my own experience that they wouldn’t be strong enough to hold Tom in place for long. I hid the leather cuffs beneath my side of the bed, well out of sight. My plan had to unfold in the early hours of the morning, if I was going to catch Mr Early-bird by surprise, so in deference to his hectic work schedule, I waited until the weekend.

I chose four o’clock as a suitable time, and set my phone alarm accordingly for the Sunday morning. I barely slept all night, so charged with anticipation of executing my cunning plan. I woke immediately as my phone began to vibrate, shutting it off as quickly as possible. Tom stirred slightly behind me, but his steady breathes assured me he was still in a deep sleep. Fortunately, he had rolled away from me in the night, and was now spread eagled on his back, one hand resting up near his shoulder.

‘ _Bingo!’_

I reached down for the cuffs, carefully shifting my weight on the mattress until I was kneeling right next to Tom. I cautiously lifted his nearest hand, swiftly fastening the cuff into place. I waited with baited breath as he stirred again, a bit more this time, before looping the chain through a gap in the headboard and attaching the other cuff to the end of it. Now, for the tricky part. I leant up, stretching my leg across until I was straddling Tom’s naked torso. ‘ _Yum_. _No! Focus, dammit!’_

The chain wasn’t overly long, so in trying to allow the other cuff to reach his as yet unimprisoned wrist, his other hand was jerked up slightly.

‘ _Fuck_.’ Tom’s breathing shifted, and his face crumpled with confusion, his eyes starting to flicker open. I panicked, grabbing his wrist and quickly fastening it in the other cuff before he could fully comprehend what was going on. He immediately tugged both of his hands, pinioned together at the headboard, but there was no give in those handcuffs, as I knew all too well. His eyes widened instantly, staring up at me in shock. I couldn’t help but grin triumphantly as I reached over and turned on the bedside lamp.

“Charlotte, what the hell are you doing?” he demanded gruffly, his voice all gravelly with sleepiness.

My grin widened. “You said I could tie you up anytime I liked, provided I caught you myself,” I reminded him, reaching up to toy with the taut chain linking his wrists. “And I’d say you’re fairly well caught, Tom.”

“Damn,” Tom cursed, clearly not having expected me to go through with my fantasy.

“Now, you’re at _my_ mercy,” I said, trying not to cackle too manically. ‘ _Oh how the tables have turned!’_

“And what are you going to do with me, now that I’m at your mercy?” Tom enquired calmly, smirking slightly.

‘ _Hmm hadn’t actually considered that. I never thought I’d even get this far.’_

“Well, you always seem to enjoy teasing and tormenting me…perhaps I’ll see what all the fuss is about,” I mused, trailing my finger down the centre of his chest and stomach. I sat up, moving the sheet off him completely, so he was as buck naked as I was. I shimmied back, wanting to have a good look at the full length of him, stretched out in front of me. ‘ _Damn that is one sexy bod you have there, Mr Hiddleston’_. The long, sleek muscles of Tom’s arms and torso were brought into stark relief by the position he was lying in, demonstrating just how deceptively muscular his apparently lanky frame really was.

I trailed my fingers along the taut runner’s muscles of his thighs, scratching lightly with my nails and watching with smug pleasure as his cock hardened in response to my touches. I moved up to trace his Adonis belt next, leaning down to lick the pathway between his hips and tickling his skin with my hair. I kissed up his happy trail, swirling my tongue in his belly button before lavishing kisses on his lovely abdominal muscles.

Tom’s breath was already harsh above me, his whole body beginning to respond to my touch, but he hadn’t uttered a single word or plea, and I desperately wanted to change that. I honed in on his chest next, nuzzling the sparse chest hairs between his pectorals and tracing his sharp collarbones with the tip of my tongue; the taste of his skin still held some of the evidence from our strenuous activities earlier that night. Tom’s nipples seemed to be perpetually hard, but I decided to give them a bit of TLC nonetheless, laving each one with my tongue and sucking hard as Tom failed to conceal his grunts of pleasure above me. I grinned, delicately grazing my teeth against one of his nipples and eliciting the first unmistakable whimper of pleasure. ‘ _Oh yes, I could get used to this- being the one in charge.’_

I rose up, kissing a path up his neck, over his prominent Adam’s apple until my lips were hovering over his. For all his earlier complaints, the tempo of his breathing and the way his pupils almost engulfed his irises showed just how turned on he was, even with our usual dynamic reversed. I kissed the creased spot between his eyebrows, peppering the bridge and tip of his lovely nose with little kisses, too. ‘ _Such a pretty face you have, Tom’_.

“Are you enjoying your exploration, love?” he teased, that trademark smirk making a reappearance. I nodded, smirking myself as I rolled my hips against his torso, letting him feel just _how much_ I was enjoying it. Tom’s eyelids flickered at the motion, and I took the opportunity to kiss him, properly. At least, that was the plan; despite being restrained in one sense, there was absolutely nothing to stop Tom completely dominating the kiss, sucking my tongue into his mouth and massaging it with his own until _I_ was the one moaning and whimpering. I pulled back, narrowing my eyes at him in an accusatory stare; he grinned unrepentantly, slowly licking his lower lip in the filthiest, most suggestive manner possible. I should’ve anticipated that he would try to play dirty.

“Don’t you miss the touch of my hands, Charlotte?” he murmured, his voice husky and hypnotic. “The feel of my palms sliding down the slopes of your shoulders, cupping your gorgeous breasts, stroking and plucking those sweet, pink nipples of yours…” His hands tensed involuntarily against the headboard, as if eager to follow the directions his eyes were lovingly tracing. I felt a blush rise to the surface at his words, which only seemed to spur him on further. “I’d grab your tiny waist and hold you tight, leave imprints of my hands across the soft flesh of your hips…or perhaps I’d leave handprints all over your glorious arse, I know how you love that,” he continued, as I felt myself being reduced to a puddle of goo with every syllable that passed his lips. “I know you love my hands, baby, all the ways they caress you, drive you wild. Untie me and I’ll stroke those sensitive folds between your legs, fill and fuck you with my fingers until you’re _begging_ for release on every stroke.”

I’ll give it to him, he was one smooth motherfucker. I shook my head, clearing all the tempting thoughts he had planted there and resolutely shutting my jaw, which had been hanging open as he spoke.

“Nice try, but it’s _my_ turn to make _you_ beg,” I retorted, my words sounding bolder than I actually felt.

I shimmied back down his body, partially resting on his legs as I took him in hand and languidly stroked his cock, occasionally tightening and twisting my grip to get a rise out of him. A spot of pre-cum pooled at his tip and I slowly leaned down, arching my back so he would have a nice view of my arse as I swirled my tongue around the head, collecting the tangy liquid. I moaned as the flavour of him exploded across my taste buds, and peered up at him through my lashes, pleased to note the tension across his arms and shoulders, the flare of his nostrils and the desire in his eyes.

Deciding to kick it up a notch, I reached for the lube on the bedside table and all but drowned my palm in the strawberry sweetness, before generously coating Tom’s straining shaft. I bit my lip, surreptitiously wriggling my hips in response to the filthy, wet sound of my hand caressing him over and over again. We were both breathing heavily as I leaned down to lick and suck at his balls, my fist still determinedly squeezing his shaft. That got me my first full-blown, strangled moan, and I couldn’t fight back the triumphant grin that spread across my face. I kept my eyes fixed boldly on his as I sealed my lips around the tumescent head of his cock, languidly sucking at him until it was nestled at the back of my throat and pulling back torturously slow, hollowing my cheeks as I attempted to suck the pleas out of him.

I pulled out all the stops, doing all the moves that experience had taught me were Tom’s favourites. I even threw in a few new things; lightly scraping my nails along the insides of his thighs, curving my fingertips and massaging that spot which a notable sex blog had assured me would drive any man _wild._ From the way his hips were bucking beneath me, the sheen of sweat appearing on his skin, the way his leg and stomach muscles quivered, I could tell that he was fighting absolutely every instinct to plead for a bit of mercy.

Alas, Tom had far better control in that area than I did. Had he been doing the same to me, I would’ve begged about ten seconds in, pride be damned.

I knew that what I was doing should have been enough to have him _weeping_ for mercy, but would he do it? No, of course not. The tension in his arms, the veins standing out on the flushed curve of his neck all told me how desperate he was for a bit of release. But in spite of the frequent, guttural groans that escaped from his lips, not a single word of beggary made itself known. Feeling a rush of irritation, I drew my mouth off him completely, folding my arms and glaring truculently at him. If he wasn’t going to play fair, neither was I.

“You’re never going to beg, are you?” I exclaimed, completely frustrated by his stubbornness. He _had_ to be desperate to come, by that point. I know I certainly was. His cock strained up proudly between us, glistening with a combination of lube and my saliva- _it_ definitely wanted to come, too.

Tom chuckled tightly, a little breathless. “No, darling. I’m afraid that simply tying me up doesn’t make you the Dominant any more than it makes me the submissive.”

I sighed in defeat. “Oh well, it was fun anyway,” I sulked, winking slyly at him. His chest vibrated with a throaty chuckle, his stomach muscles tensing and relaxing as he did so. He was one good-looking distraction.

“Untie me, baby. I want to fuck you nice and deep,” he purred, licking his lips salaciously as he looked me up and down. I sighed, but considering I _had_ had my fun, I supposed I couldn’t really deny his request. That and, I was a tad concerned that the way he kept tugging on the cuffs was bound to do damage. I straddled his chest again, fiddling to undo the clasp of the cuffs.

No sooner had I released Tom’s wrists than he was surging forward, using his body weight to push me onto my back. I yelped in shock, but by the time my mind caught up with what was happening, Tom had already flipped me onto my front at the edge of the bed and fastened my hands behind my back with the cuffs he had been wearing only seconds before.

‘ _Fuck.’_

“I think you enjoyed that entirely too much, love. I’d better remind you of your rightful place,” Tom mused, smoothing his palm down my spine and giving my ass a sharp smack. I groaned in frustration at my own stupidity- taking off the cuffs was a dreadful idea, but I had to admit that I hadn’t quite expected Tom to react as he did.

Tom’s hand continued to linger threateningly over my arse, and I fully expected to receive a thorough spanking for my trouble…even though _technically_ I hadn’t done anything he didn’t say I couldn’t. In fact, I had been downright inventive, if I do say so myself.

“Oh, is this all for me? You’re absolutely soaking, darling. I reckon you could go off at any minute…but you won’t, will you?” Tom purred tauntingly, stroking his fingers through my folds and coating them with the evidence of my arousal.

“No, Tom,” I sighed, knowing full-well what he meant. ‘ _Fucking delayed gratification. The worst two words in the English language.’_

“Not until…?”

“Not until you tell me I can,” I replied obediently, rather hoping to avoid a spanking if I was deferent enough. Tom seemed satisfied by my answer, judging by the way he slid two of his fingers inside me, scissoring and curving them slowly so that I could feel every centimetre.

I moaned into the duvet, feeling the tension he began to ignite inside me with every stroke of his talented fingers. Just as I felt my walls beginning to quiver, that tell-tale heat settling in my lower belly, Tom withdrew his fingers, landing another sharp smack to my butt. I could see how the rest of the night was going to go.

“You’re cruel,” I whined.

“Am I? Isn’t this just what you were doing to me?”

“Well, maybe I won’t beg you, either,” I retorted, feeling a sudden streak of rebellion.

“I’ll have such fun _making_ you,” he purred, his voice laced with a threat as his hands gripped my hips, shifting my lower body until my feet could just skim the floor.

Then, he did the exact opposite of what I was expecting.

The heat of his cock nestled at my entrance was the only, brief warning I had before he snapped his hips forward and buried himself inside me up to the hilt. I cried out, pressing my face into the crumpled duvet as my whole body shunted forwards, rocked by the power of his thrusts. I moaned delightedly at the feeling of him stretching me, the impact of his hips against my butt, the domineering hand tangled in my hair, holding my head at a stiff angle. And yet…the speed he was moving at, particularly in the position we were in, meant that I was only enjoying rather low waves of pleasure. In fact, Tom wasn’t doing anything whatsoever to help me along- my clit was totally neglected, and his decision to move my hips off the bed before taking me had ensured I couldn’t receive any accidental stimulus. I pressed my lips shut, not quite ready to surrender.

“I don’t hear any begging, Charlotte,” Tom chided, tugging my head back until my spine was almost a perfect arch. I whimpered, burying my teeth in my lip, refusing to give him satisfaction while he was withholding mine.

“Very well, perhaps I’ll simply ride you hard and put you away wet. I’ve obviously been spoiling you so much that you expect a release as your due,” he continued, his voice dipping to a dark growl, stuttering slightly as he continued to hammer into me. A wanton cry escaped me then, half turned on by his words and half horrified at his suggestion. ‘ _Time to put that pride aside.’_

“Tom, please don’t!” I whimpered.

Tom immediately slowed down, humming as if considering what to do. “I don’t know, darling. I was fast asleep, absolutely knackered, and then you woke me and got me all riled up. Perhaps I’ll just use your luscious body for myself and then go back to bed, tie you up somewhere nearby so that I can tend to you in the morning when I’m feeling a bit fresher.”

“Tom, _no_!” I whined, afraid that he would do exactly as he said, just to teach me a lesson. I wouldn’t have put it past him.

I received another swift smack, harder than the two preceding it.

“That sounded rather too like a command for my liking, Charlotte. You do realise the natural balance has been restored, don’t you? You had your little play at being in control, but we both know who _really_ is in charge here,” he murmured, thrusting deep and slow now.

“You are, Tom. You are. _Please_ , please...” My eyes rolled in my head as Tom languidly circled his hips, letting me feel every inch of him. His new tactic was working with embarrassing ease- I could already feel my orgasm beginning to flourish.

Tom didn’t seem entirely satisfied with my answer, withholding a response for several agonizing minutes. My muscles were trembling like mad, my mind twisting between ecstasy and impending disappointment.

“Who do you belong to?” he murmured softly, two of his finger descending to encircle my pulsing clit.

“You,” I replied, instantly, knowing what I had to do to get what I wanted. The pads of his fingers slid together, pressing gently on my most sensitive spot.

“Are you quite _sure?_ ” Tom gritted out, his steady thrusts picking up pace again, faint stutters in rhythm showing me how close he was to completion.

“ _Yes!_ ” I wailed, bucking back against him as the crest of my orgasm washed over me, pressed on by the insistent manipulations of Tom’s fingers.

Tom released my hair, his whole body stiffening behind me as he came in response to the clenching of my inner muscles. He fell forwards, resting his body weight on me for just a moment, our strained breathes the only sound in the quiet room. I smiled happily, floating on the dregs of my orgasm, revelling in the feel of him pressed against me.

Tom reluctantly pulled himself up, tenderly kissing the nape of my neck as he unfastened the cuffs that had originally been so key to _my_ cunning plan. He helped me and my jellied limbs to sit up, carefully massaging my wrists and checking for any damage as I smiled dreamily at him. He caught my eye, laughing softly as he pressed a chaste kiss to my lips.

“And now, my cunning little minx, shall we try to get some sleep?” he whispered, his eyes sparkling as he tucked a few stray hairs behind my ear.

I pouted sadly, tilting my head to the side.

“Really? No round two?” I teased, the yawn that escaped me somewhat diminishing the sentiment.

Tom just laughed, scooping me up and settling us both beneath the covers. I snuggled up tight by his side, pressing myself against him as he turned off the light.

“Tomorrow, my darling. Tomorrow.”


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, so sorry for the delay! I completely lost my mojo for a few weeks, and at this stage in the story, my usual perfectionism is going into overdrive.
> 
> There is sex ahead (duh) of the kinky variety, which means: restraints, gagging, hair-pulling, spanking and talk of strapping. Please proceed with caution.
> 
> This is the penultimate chapter of ‘Pay to Play’ (eeep!) And a certain part of this chapter (you’ll understand later) was a plot point that appeared randomly in my head about a year ago. There are no words to adequately describe how excited I was to finally tackle it. I certainly hope my faithful readers enjoy it :)

It was the 7th of September. I remember, because it was a bad day- not my worst, mind you, but a bad one. I had one week left before uni started, and I woke up puzzling where my three-and-a-half month summer had gone. Let’s see…holiday with Tom, Wimbledon, lots of sex, romantic dinners, swanky lunches, moving my Nana into her state-of-the-art care home, guilt-free shopping trips, culture dates and even more sex. A pretty stellar summer, it must be said.

I woke up rather earlier than intended, jolted back to reality by the sun streaming through a gap on the curtains. I checked the clock- 8:14. ‘ _Dammit Hiddleston, why didn’t you close the curtains properly?_ ’ I did not want to be awake at such an ungodly hour; I wanted to savour each and every lie-in I had before term started again, but when I’m awake, I _have_ to get out of bed.

After an hour of watching TV and slowly munching my way through a bowl of cereal, I decided to have a little poke around the house in Tom’s absence. I had been meaning to snoop around earlier, but I rarely had such a prime opportunity: Tom wouldn’t be home until at least 6pm, and I had the place all to myself.

Although I had grown more comfortable in Tom’s house over time, I still felt uneasy whenever I entered an empty room. There were four in the house, on the second and third floors, that simply weren’t furnished at all- they were painted and carpeted, but had no furniture or decorations whatsoever. The downstairs was the most ‘lived in’ part of the house- all of the rooms were suitably decorated and inhabitable, but there were no knick knacks, no photographs of friends or family members. There was a large, pricey looking painting hanging in the drawing room and a vase of irises that Tom had bought for me a few days prior, but that was about the height of it. I pegged it down to male taste.

I snuck into Tom’s office, and found myself flooded with flashbacks of the many dirty shenanigans that had occurred in there. His fancy, old-fashioned desk was neatly organized: pens, paper notepad and Mac all arranged at perpendicular angles. I tried each of the drawers, rattling them with frustration when they wouldn’t open. None except the top left, which contained a stack of incomprehensible legal documents with Tom’s signature dotted throughout. ‘ _Damn, this really is too much snooping, even for me_ ’. Just as I was about to slide the stack back into the drawer, I noticed another, smaller piece of card lying at the bottom. I fished it out, my guilt about snooping evaporating as quickly as it came.

It was a photograph, a professional one, of a man and woman dancing in the middle of a crowd. There wouldn’t have been room for a credit card between their bodies, and the woman stared up at the tall man, her hand caressing his cheek as he stared back at her. The woman’s dress was a bright, vivid green, a shade that picked her out amongst the crowd.

The woman was me. And the man, of course, was Tom.

I didn’t remember the photo being taken, but then, it was clearly a candid shot. We were both unaware of the photographer capturing the shot. It was so gorgeous- _we_ were so gorgeous- it made a lump catch in my throat. I turned the photograph over again, noticing the tiny note scrawled in the bottom corner:   _April 10 th 2014_.

I stood staring at the photograph for a long time, drinking in every detail. ‘ _I’ll have to ask Tom for a copy…He’s so cute, keeping it in his desk!’_ I knew it wasn’t very ‘Tom’ to have a framed picture of us on display, but the fact that he had the photo at all made me grin like an idiot. It was nice to know he could be mushy, too.

I headed back to the bedroom, in the hopes that a shower would wake me up a bit. I took my time, treating myself to a long, steamy wash. My hand may or may not have wandered between my legs a few times, but I knew that I wasn’t really supposed to get myself off without Tom, so I valiantly desisted. Rules suck.

I emerged from the steaming bathroom, pink and squeaky-clean, and ready to lie around and do nothing all day. Just as I stepped into the bedroom, my phone skittered across the bedside table, buzzing incessantly. I grabbed it, but just before I clicked to answer, I noticed the name and did a double-take.

_Charlotte_

“Uh, hello?”

“Good morning, love.” ‘ _Tom, of course!_ ’ I pulled the phone from my ear, checking for the tell-tale crack that had happened when I dropped it on the pavement a few weeks before. ‘ _This ain’t my phone’_.

“Why do you have my phone?” I asked, peevishly.

Tom merely chuckled. “I seem to have lifted it by mistake,” he explained, his voice the epitome of innocence.

“Oh really? It took you…what, three hours to realise you had the wrong phone?”

“No. I realised just as I arrived in the office, but I didn’t think my little lazy bones would be awake yet,” he teased. I rolled my eyes, not buying a damn word of it.  His voice dipped low, that distinctly salacious tone emerging and setting my heart aflutter. “Speaking of my office…would you be an angel and come down here? I really do require my own phone for business, you know.”

I decided to play tricky. “Why can’t you just nip home? I only got out of the shower and…I’m all _wet_ ,” I purred, grinning triumphantly when I picked up a distinct growl from his end.

“Are you now, my darling girl? Just how wet? Are you absolutely soaking? I would be _more_ than happy to assist you…just as soon as you get your beautiful ass to my office,” he cooed, melting my resolve with every word. Damn him.

“Ugh, but then I’ll have to dry my hair, and get dressed…and I was planning on just lounging around your house naked, today,” I countered, eliciting a groan from Tom.

“Mmm, I’d rather you be naked in my office, love. Don’t worry too much about getting dressed- there’ll be no need for any underwear. A pretty little dress and shoes should do just lovely. Something that I can rip off in under three seconds.”

‘ _Damn.’_

“You’re the _worst_ ,” I whined, not at all graceful in my defeat.

“Hurry, darling. I’m in no mood for waiting,” Tom purred darkly, cutting the call as the threat hanged between us.

Never have I ever dressed, dried my hair and made myself presentable to the outside world in such quick time. I power-walked to the tube, stood tapping my foot on the trains as the stops whizzed by and leapt out when it finally reached Liverpool Street. I dodged in and out of a sea of businessmen and women, keeping my eyes peeled for Tom’s law firm to appear.

_Bingo!_

I hurried into the lobby, suddenly feeling a tad uncertain as I noticed the hustle and bustle of people. A few interested glances passed my way, but at least no one outright _stared_. Unwilling to approach the hassled-looking people manning the front desk, I whipped out my- sorry, _Tom’s_ , phone- and rang him.

“Hi, I’m in the lobby. Where’s your office?” I asked without much preamble, hopping into a packed lift.

“Top floor, darling. Do hurry, I can hardly wait,” he purred salaciously. I nervously glanced at the people around me, praying to God they hadn’t heard that…from their _boss_.

“Ok, great. See you soon,” I babbled, hanging up before Tom uttered something even more incriminating. The lift whizzed up, pausing on every floor to lose (and occasionally, gain) passengers until I was the only person left.

I cautiously edged out on the top floor, taking in the swish (but again, overwhelmingly modern and masculine) décor. A burly security guard stood by the glass doors that seemed to lead into a reception area. I expected an interrogation, but he merely glanced at me and nodded expressionlessly, making no move whatsoever.

The large receptionist‘s desk was abandoned, but I found Tom’s office door easy enough- it was the only one there, after all. The entire top floor was his, and his alone.

‘ _And so am I…’_

I rearranged the skirt of my dress and fluffed my hair, before raising a hand to knock briskly on the door.

“Come in,” intoned a deep voice from within. I fiddled with the handle for a moment, finally swinging the surprisingly heavy door open.

I had never been in Tom’s ‘work’ office before; I was so busy gaping at the sheer size of the room and the floor-to-ceiling windows that I almost forgot to acknowledge the man sitting imposingly behind the luxurious desk, tapping his finger impatiently on the shining mahogany as he watched me dander towards him.

“At last, Miss Green. Did I or did I not call you over an hour ago, requesting your presence in my office?” He chided, fixing me with a hard stare. I blinked owlishly, thrown off-kilter by his apparent (and sudden) sang-froid.

“Um…yes, you did.”

“ _Sir_.”

A tell-tale smirk wavered at the corners of the Tom’s lips as he noticed my surprised reaction. He had never asked me to call him ‘Sir’ before, so why now? It took me a rather long time to understand what was afoot. ‘ _Oh okay, he wants to role-play. Interesting. Now, am I just a standard employee or the typical naughty secretary?’_

“Yes, Sir. I’m sorry to have kept you waiting,” I replied sweetly, chewing my lip and staring guiltily at the floor.

“I think it’s a bit late for apologies, don’t you?” Tom purred, lounging in the chair and playing with his tie in a decidedly suggestive manner.

“Yes, but…Mr Hiddleston, Sir, _please_ don’t fire me. I promise it will never happen again,” I simpered, moving to stand by the side of his desk and utilising a helpless, doe-eyed look.

“You may bat your eyelashes all you wish, Miss Green. But I’m afraid the time has come for _disciplinary_ action,” Tom replied, his voice slipping into a growl on that one word. The expression on his face was suitably cold and disapproving, but his eyes shimmered with mischief as he looked up at me.

“Yes, Sir. I’ll do anything you want…anything to show you that I really am a good employee,” I pleaded, kneeling by his chair and staring up at him in supplication.

“‘Anything’? I’m warning you, Miss Green. Don’t make promises you don’t intend to keep,” Tom murmured darkly, tracing along my jaw with his fingertip. I felt my heart flutter at his words, my stomach coiling with anticipation at the look in his eyes. I knew that we were about to have a _very_ enjoyable afternoon.

“What shall we have first? Pleasure, or _pain_?” he mused, curling his fingers in my hair and urging me to lean closer to him, turning the chair to allow me to nestle between his spread legs. It seemed his eagerness for pleasure was going to win out, and I bit back a smile, my eyes lingering on the prominent budge only partially concealed by the dark blue fabric of his suit trousers. ‘ _This is a fun game.’_

This time sucking Tom off would, I knew, be extremely different from the last time, when I had tied him up and had my filthy way with him (well, _almost_ ) a couple of weeks before.

Tom deftly unbuttoned and unzipped his trousers with his spare hand, still holding my head captive in his large palm. When his cock emerged from the confines of his trousers, he drew me forward, the firmness of his hand allowing me no quarter.

“Let’s see if your mouth can keep up with all of the promises it has just made, shall we?” He leered convincingly, although the huskiness of his voice reminded me just how eager he had been for me to come down for a visit. I reached up, ready to take him in hand when he tutted loudly above me, jerking my head slightly.

“Hands behind your back.”

I did as commanded, primly clasping my hands at my lower back and allowing his hand to direct my movements. I swirled my tongue around the tip of his cock, moaning quietly at the taste. My eyes flickered up, locking on Tom’s wolfish stare as I sealed my lips around the head, sucking so lightly that it was practically a dare: ‘ _Make me, Sir.’_ A smirk formed at the corner of Tom’s mouth, and I knew by the look in his eye that he was wise to my plan. His open palm pressed more firmly against the back of my head, all but forcing me to take another few inches of him in. In keeping with the game, I moaned in complaint, knowing all too well that the vibrations it caused would get Tom going.

My eyes flickered up, noting the rhythmic clench of his jaw as I slid up and down his length, as slavishly and half-heartedly as possible. Perhaps I _was_ feeling a little brattish, after all.

And Tom wasn’t about to let me get away with being a brat –a disobedient one, at that. He tugged on my hair, a little less than gently, until my mouth let him go with a quiet ‘ _pop_!’

“Well, well. Someone is feeling rather uncooperative. Shall we remedy that?” Tom purred, his eyes glittering dangerously. My slightly nervous gulp didn’t require any acting. Tom grasped my arm, pulling me to my feet and leading me round to the front of the desk. Catching my wrists, he firmly placed each of my hands palm down on the dark wood and kicked my feet wide apart.

“ _Don’t move_ ,” he whispered, his lips grazing the shell of my ear. My bratty bravado had all but left the building, and my breath came out shaky and uneven.

“Yes, Sir.”

Tom’s hands trailed down my sides, flipping up the hem of my sundress with no preamble. Satisfied, he proceeded to unzip it, slowly sliding it off me until it pool at my feet.

“Good girl. It’s pleasant to see that you can obey at least _one_ of my commands,” he remarked, appreciatively groping my bare behind, and briefly slipping two of his fingers between my legs.

“Wet already. Just from me fucking your mouth.” I could hear the smugness in his voice, clear as day behind the vulgar words.

I whimpered in complaint as his teasing fingers left me, convinced that he was about to play a familiar game entitled ‘Delayed Gratification’. I heard Tom tut softly somewhere to my right, felt him move closer to me again, his arms encircling me.

His tie, held between both hands, slid down over my eyes. I blinked in surprise when it didn’t form a blindfold, instead descending to brush against my lips.

“Open,” Tom coaxed, his voice almost a caress. I did as instructed, although months of ‘playing’ had informed me that gags were never my favourite part- thankfully Tom rarely used them, preferring to hear my ecstasy-induced gibberish and squeals.

As if reading my mind, Tom explained his actions as he secured the silk between my teeth, knotting it carefully at the back of my head. “We can’t have you making too much noise. Even though I do plan to make you scream.” A shiver rippled through me at his voice, doubled by the trail of hot, wet kisses he lavished down the side of my neck.

“Now Miss Green, I’m afraid we must come to the punishment,” Tom intoned, not sounding sorry in the slightest as he nipped playfully at the sensitive point between my neck and shoulder.

“You know you must always come when I beckon. That’s what a _good_ employee would do, not keep me waiting. Isn’t that right?” He said, the cool sharpness returning to his voice as he re-adopted character.

I nodded frantically, managing a gurgled estimation of ‘Yes, Sir’. He appeared contented, continuing on with his diatribe.

“There is another, more important matter, however… did you get your eyes tested, as I instructed?” he enquired, silkily, even though he knew the answer. I felt a quiver of unease flicker in my lower belly. That had been _weeks_ ago. Honestly, I had forgotten about the whole thing…and I had rather hoped he had too.

Evidently not.

The light atmosphere of our ‘game’ suddenly shifted as I realised I had earned myself a _real_ punishment. It was one thing to role-play being in trouble, it was another entirely to actually be _in_ trouble.

“Grip the edge of the desk,” he instructed, his voice calm, cool and collected. My heart jumped as I heard the distinctive sound of his belt being unbuckled, the leather sliding quickly out of the loops in his trousers. I shakily reached forward, stretching until I could reach the other side; the wood was cold against my skin, my toes just touching the floor, and my body held tight as a bow.

“I haven’t used the belt on you before, Charlotte. Perhaps it would do you some good,” Tom mused, trailing a folded curve of the stiff leather up my spine. Cold terror mimicked the movement of the belt, trickling along my spine. I knew enough to know that a strapping wasn’t something I wanted to experience, no matter how generously Tom always tended to me after my punishments.

I allowed a shaky breath to escape as the belt made its way slowly across my shoulders. Tom left me hanging in an agony of anxiety as he almost lovingly traced my skin, clearly deciding what he wanted to do with me. I only wished my mouth was free to beg for a bit of lenience.

“Press your palms together,” he instructed, softly. I released the desk and slammed my hands together immediately, in case he changed his mind. Tom circled around the desk, standing before me. I peered up at him, trying to gauge the expression on his face, but the angle of the sunlight, and his stature, cast his whole face into shadow.

I exhaled with relief as the rough leather wrapped around my wrists, pinning them together. It seemed I had avoided a nasty punishment.

With my hands secured in place, Tom strolled leisurely behind me again, caressing various points on my body as he passed, and sending little shocks of pleasure through me. I felt a jolt of foreboding as his hand settled threateningly on my arse, as if sizing up exactly where he planned to paint bright red.

“You deliberately ignored one of my instructions, Charlotte, and for that I will give you twenty strikes. You will receive an additional ten, for neglecting your health,” Tom informed me, his voice clipped and business-like. I whimpered at the thought of thirty spanks, but kept my body and face pliant with acceptance.

‘ _At least I don’t have to count_ ,’ I thought, trying to look on the bright side. I could barely recollect how many times I had endured restart after restart of punishments when I forgot to count each strike.

The bright side dimmed in comparison as Tom’s open palm collided with my backside, sending my whole body jerking forward. I hadn’t been punished in a while, so the strength behind each strike seemed sharper than normal.

I clenched my fingers together until my knuckles turned white, as I jolted with every hit. I could hear my own heartbeat thundering in my ears, and my ragged breath; above all I heard the sound of Tom’s hand colliding with the (now extremely) tender skin of my butt.

Tom didn’t count aloud, and I hadn’t even bothered trying to keep score. So it was a pleasant surprise when he finally stopped.

My whole body was tingling, my nerves set alight by the pain and arousal. It was strange how thoroughly Tom had taught me to connect punishment with pleasure. I gasped and squirmed as Tom stroked a palm over my burning skin, whispering endearments to me soothingly.

“Good girl, Charlotte. You took that so well.”

I attempted to smile around my makeshift gag, happiness bubbling within me at his praise.

Tom appeared before me, removing the tie and stroking my cheek gently as I shifted my stiffened jaw. His thumbs gently smoothed the tears that had pooled at the corners of my eyes, trigger reactions to the pain and his disappointment at my disobedience. I smiled dreamily as he kissed me, as tenderly as if I were made of fine bone china. Yet, for all his gentleness, I knew it wasn’t to last. When he pulled away, my lips aching to chase after his, there was that all too familiar fire in his eyes- a fire that never failed to trigger a corresponding one in the pit of my stomach.

I grinned happily to myself as Tom circled back around, so impatient that he undid his button and zipper as he moved.

The leather of his dress shoes pressed the insides of my feet, forcing them to spread, while the weight of him pressed threateningly against my chastened behind. His hand fisted in my hair as the searing tip of his cock slid up and down my wet folds.

“Well, well. It seems someone enjoyed their punishment a little too much,” he taunted, squeezing my tender arse with his free hand and chuckling breathily at my whimpers of protest.

The head of his cock brushed insistently against my swollen clit, causing my body to jerk and spasm in response to the whispers of pleasure. I whimpered again, even more pitifully than before. The crisp cotton of Tom’s shirt pressed against my back, the buttons cool along my spine as he blew teasingly on the shell of my ear.

“Beg me, Charlotte. Beg me, as prettily and desperately as you can, and then maybe- _maybe_ \- I’ll let you come,” he murmured, sinking his sharp teeth into my earlobe for a painful few seconds.

I didn’t like the sound of that double ‘maybe’.

“Sir, _please_ , I-” I cut off, distracted by the sensation of Tom’s cock shallowly dipping inside me, tantalizingly close to giving me what I wanted. “Uh…please, let me come, Sir. I’m sorry I was bad; I deserved to be punished-”

I cut off once again as the phone, a hand span from where I – _we-_ lay began to ring.

Tom growled angrily, seizing the receiver and slamming it back down into the cradle again, ceasing its caterwauling.

“Continue,” he prompted, as if nothing had happened. I vaguely hoped that the phone call hadn’t been too urgent, because Tom clearly wasn’t interested in anything but what we were doing.

“I was bad, Sir, but you punished me, and you said I took it well-”

“Mmm, yes, you did. But perhaps you need a further reminder of what happens when you disobey me, hmm?” Tom mused, gripping my hip and pulling me back against his hips, which had begun to roll in a very tantalizing fashion.

‘ _Fuck. Gotta pull out all the stops here.’_

“Maybe, Sir…but, it’ll be more pleasurable for you, if I come. I know you like how it feels when I contract around you, pulling you deeper inside me…” I argued, pleased by my own cunning. Tom jerked behind me, moaning softly at my words. I had him.

“Minx,” Tom growled, his teeth grazing my throat telling me how it infuriated him that I was right.

He wasted no time, aligning himself and pushing determinedly into me in one thrust. I moaned raggedly at the feel of him, stretching me wide around his girth. I vaguely considered that, perhaps, he should have left my gag on for that part, too.

Tom fucked me hard, that curious blend of fast and leisurely that he seemed to have mastered. I watched my own hands clench from within the circle of the belt, little cries and moans pushed from my lips as Tom pumped into me with single-minded determination. Faint twinges of pain fluttered at the edge of my consciousness; my tender backside receiving a frequent battering from Tom’s hips, and the firm grip of his fist in my hair. If anything, they only served to amp up my pleasure, and I automatically moved back against Tom, meeting every thrust in an attempt to get myself off.

My begging must have worked, to some extent, although I wasn’t under any illusion that I could get Tom to do something he didn’t want. As his steady pace disintegrated, signalling his own oncoming release, his fingers left their position on my hip, slipping down to stroke and caress that firework-inducing spot between my legs.

“Come, darling,” Tom uttered, his voice rough with exertion. I shut my eyes, releasing all control and letting my orgasm hit.

I slumped against the desk, smiling inwardly as I felt Tom stiffen and briefly collapse on top of me with a delicious groan that took the form of my name.

We both lay gasping for breath, like fish out of water, for several minutes, until Tom heaved himself up. He tenderly lifted me, in my limp state and carried me over to the sofa, delicately arranging me in his lap and untying his belt. I instantly gripped his (no doubt madly expensive) shirt in my fist, nuzzling against the crook of his neck, practically purring as he stroked his hands all over me.

“How are you, love?” He asked, after a few minutes of silence, reaching towards the coffee table and holding a glass of water to my lips. I drank it down greedily, smiling up at him.

“That was…fun. Definitely more fun than what I had planned to do today,” I replied, giggling at the hoarseness of my own voice.

“Ah yes, ‘lying naked around my house’, was it?” Tom teased, his eyes shimmering with amusement.

“Yes. That’s what I do every day when you’re at work,” I said, trying to sound even a mite convincing. Tom knew rightly that I dug out his cuddliest jumper and cosied up in front of the TV.

Tom laughed. “Well, it was certainly more enjoyable than what _I_ was doing,” he said, gesturing to the bomb-site that was now his desk. I bit my lip, only feeling a tad guilty at the mess we had made.

After a while longer of post-coital snuggling, I decided it really was time I let Tom get back to work.

I shook out my dress, tugging it back on and attempting to ignore Tom’s obvious leer as I slipped back into my pumps. I may have leered in return as he re-closed his trousers, his long, deft fingers swiftly re-knotting his tie. I tried not to think too much about the fact that my saliva was probably all over it. Thank goodness he had gone for a dark colour that day.

Both respectfully presented once more, I dithered in the middle of the room, ready to head for the door.

Tom put on his jacket, striding towards me. The crinkles at the corners of his eyes appeared, as he held out his palm, holding my phone. I mock-glared at him as I unzipped my tiny cross-body bag, pulling out his phone. He had the good grace to look a touch sheepish as we exchanged phones.

“Don’t think I’m not wise to your plan,” I chided, unable to avoid grinning at his ‘angelic’ expression.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he insisted, pulling me up against him.

“Uh huh. So this wasn’t a lure to get me down here for kinky office-sex? _Right._ ” Tom grinned, pressing his forehead against mine.

“Perhaps I just missed your company,” he said, softly. The look in his eyes made my stomach go all squirmy again, but not in the sexy sense.

Not sure how to respond, apart from with a protracted ‘awwww’, I pressed my lips against his. My heart raced as it became something more, Tom’s arms pulling me tight, his tongue seeking access –

“For fuck sake!” Tom growled, as his phone began to ring, again.

Trying not to laugh at his irritated expression (did he really think we were going for a round two?), I delicately extricated myself from his grasp, pressing a final kiss to his lips before darting out the door with a wave. Honestly, I felt a little sorry for the poor person on the other end of the line.

I jumped in shock as I turned from the door to find the previously unmanned desk to be…manned. Well, _woman_ ed. Because, of course, Tom’s secretary would be a woman, and a good-looking one, at that. What a bloody cliché. Her back was turned to me, but even then I could tell she was rather beautiful; tall, blonde and willowy, and to my shame I felt my jealous streak flaring up instantly.

She turned as I moved towards the glass doors, suddenly _very_ eager to leave. ‘ _How long has she been standing there? Could she have heard something? How sound-proof are the walls of Tom’s office?’_

“Hello,” I acknowledged, perhaps a little tersely, conscious that my appearance probably screamed ‘SEX!’ The woman’s dark eyes fixed on me like a bird honing in on its prey. She didn’t speak for several, long seconds.

“Oh, _you’re_ not Carina,” the woman sneered, looking me up and down with a twisted mixture of disdain and amusement. Panic gripped my insides at her words, freezing the joy that had been there only moments before.

 _‘Carina? Who is Carina?’_ In the intervening months since the gala, I had completely forgotten about the two bitchy women, crowing about how humiliated ‘Carina’ would be to see ‘Tom’ at the event with a ‘teenager’. I had intended to slip the name into conversation with Tom at some point, but it had completely slipped my mind…and here it was again. My whole body prickled with unease, as I asked the question I distinctly sensed I didn’t want to know the answer to.

“Who…who is Carina?” The secretary’s ruby lips curved into a cruel smile, her eyes flashing with glee.

“Oh, you don’t know?” she enquired, tilting her head to one side in mock sympathy and shuffling papers on her desk. Her eyes never left me as she dealt the coup-de-grâce.

“Carina is Mr Hiddleston’s wife.”


	25. Chapter 25

I walked the whole way home from Tom’s office. It took me over an hour, and I could feel my feet beginning to blister before I’d even reached Borough High Street, but I kept on walking, dazed and confused, my mind a total jumble of thoughts.

_‘How? How could he have hidden something like that for so long? That’s a hell of a gamble, carrying on for six months as if everything’s fine and dandy… I mean, he doesn’t wear a wedding ring, but then most men don’t, anyway… I’ve never seen any incriminating pictures…scratch that, I’ve barely seen any pictures of him or his family at all, save the mere handful he showed me on his phone every so often. There are no pictures in his house, almost no personal items at all...’_

It dawned on me slowly- that wasn’t Tom’s real house. Or, at least, it was a fairly new acquisition, one he hadn’t settled into. Perhaps he and ‘the wife’ (I couldn’t bear to think her name) had separated? But still, did that make it any better? They obviously weren’t divorced. The secretary didn’t say ‘ex-wife’, she said ‘she _is_ Mr Hiddleston’s wife’- present tense. ‘ _He lied to me…_ ’

Maybe, I thought to myself, maybe the secretary had been lying, trying to stir shit up…but there was the risk that I would simply march into Tom’s office and tell him what she’d just said- surely she wouldn’t risk her job over a silly lie like that? Honestly, I _felt_ it, felt the truth of what she’d said as soon as the words left her mouth. It was as if I had always known it, but had hidden it away somewhere in my own head. But I hadn’t known. I hadn’t. I had just been a stupid, trusting, naïve little idiot.

 I felt another wave of nausea flood through me and I charged to the bathroom as soon as I entered the flat, flinging myself over the toilet bowl. I felt physically ill- panic and bewilderment shooting through my veins. I shook my head, trying to clear my mind of thoughts. It didn’t work.  The paradigms of our relationship had hidden a lot of things- for and from both of us. ‘ _But what about the gala?’_ Obviously he knew a lot of people there, and those women in the bathroom were proof that people knew (a) he had wife and (b) that I wasn’t the said wife.  Was it some kind of twisted, rich-person game they played? Who can flaunt their young lover to all of their friends and acquaintances?

A lot of my things remained at Tom’s house. ‘ _No, not my things. Things Tom had bought me to mould me into his perfect little mistress’._ Well, I decided, he could keep all of them for the next girl he seduced. No doubt I was one in a very long line up -

 _‘No, how could it all have been a game to him? It was real, it had to be. We did so much together, experienced so much together.’_ I couldn’t accept that it had all been a ruse, that I had changed so fundamentally as the result of an elaborate trick. Tom was harsh at times, perhaps a tad too steely, but he wasn’t _cruel_. I couldn’t- wouldn’t- believe that he had been stringing me along all those months, just pretending to care about me.

But can you lie to someone you care about? Lie about something that big, that important, from day one? Is that caring for someone?

I stayed in the bathroom for the rest of the day, alternating between vomiting and crying so hard that I actually made myself sick again.

Tom wouldn’t know anything was wrong until he arrived home, and I wasn’t there. I pictured him calling my name as he came through the front door, wandering into the empty kitchen, then the sitting room, the den, and finally upstairs, moving a little faster now, still calling my name as he entered the bedroom, checking the bathroom and the wardrobe, just to be sure. Certain that I wasn’t in the house; he’d scour it for a post-it note, explaining where I was. When he found none, he would finally call me, perhaps feeling a prickle of fear in the back of his mind.

I estimated that it was around seven o’clock when I first heard my phone begin to ring, the tinkling sound and buzzing of the vibration muted by bag, where it was buried.

I ignored it, still choking down sensations of misery and shock as I drifted off on the bathroom floor…

I awoke to the sound of the buzzer from downstairs, trilling loudly in the living room. I groaned and cursed, mentally giving off to Saranya for always forgetting her damn key. I pulled myself up and walked wobbly legged to the control panel, not even bothering to speak as I buzzed her up. I unlatched our front door and curled up on the sofa, half-heartedly wiping at the dried tear-stains on my cheeks. There was really no point in trying to hide my misery from her, and frankly I didn’t have it in me to pretend everything was fine. It wasn’t fine. I wasn’t fine. I needed someone to give me a hug, make me a cup of tea and pet my hair while I cried.

I turned as I heard a tentative knock on the door, wondering why Saranya didn’t simply waltz into her own home.

“Charlotte? Are you in there?” _Shit._

The voice definitely wasn’t Saranya, unless she’d had a super-secret sex change in the last week.

It was Tom.

In hindsight, I should have considered the possibility of him calling by, although I hadn’t expected him to be quite so swift on the uptake. I leapt up and gaped in horror as I stared at the door, unsure of what to do.

‘ _Should I pretend to not be home? No wait, he knows someone is home. I did buzz him in, after all. I am so dumb.’_

“Charlotte?” Tom banged a little harder on the door. A little squeak escaped me as I heard the faint turn of the doorknob. In a split second he would walk in and I wouldn’t be able to cope.

“No! Don’t come in!” I shouted in a panic. The doorknob immediately ceased turning.

“Charlotte? What’s wrong, darling? Why weren’t you at home?” Tom asked, his calm tone revealing only the tiniest sliver of worry. ‘ _Why would he be worried? He’s managed to trick me for over six months. No reason to believe I would’ve cottoned on now.’_

“I am at home,” I replied, petulantly. I considered darting to the door and re-locking it, but I was fixed in place with fear.

Tom sighed. “You know what I mean. Are you alright, Charlotte? Your voice sounds a little off. Is something the matter?” ‘ _Yes, something is “the matter” you S.O.B. You’re cheating on me! Or…cheating on your wife with me. There is cheating going on!’_

“No, I’m fine. Bye.”

“Charlotte! I’m serious-”

“I just…I don’t feel well. I’m sick,” I lied, coughing pathetically. I was counting on Tom not wanting to risk infection.

“Then let me take care of you-”

“No! I just want to be alone, okay?” My voice was starting to shake, fresh tears threatening to spill all over the place if he insisted on being so sweet…even though I knew he was anything but.

“I don’t wish to barge into your apartment, but you’re frightening me now, darling,” Tom said, his gorgeous voice so soft and coaxing. I bit my lips, infuriated at the power he still had over me.

“It’s-it’s fine, I’ll just call you tomorrow, o-okay?” I tried, but my wavering voice gave me away.

The door clicked open and Tom slowly came in, as if he was a lion tamer entering the ring. His eyes immediately searched for me; I dreaded to think of the picture I was presenting.

Tom took one look at my blotchy face and teary eyes, and reached out to hug me. I darted away, putting as much distance between us as possible. The confused, hurt little look that crossed his face made me even more upset.

“What’s wrong, love?” He asked, softly, his wide eyes beseeching me as he shut the door.

“Don’t call me that. I had a chat with your secretary, today. Did you know that?” Now he looked wary, his rich blue-grey eyes piercing me.

“No, I didn’t. Did she say something to upset you?” Protective Tom made an appearance, frowning at the mere thought of someone upsetting me.

“She isn’t the one who upset me!” I snapped.

“Charlotte, what is going on?”

“Who is Carina, Tom?”

There was a dead beat of silence. The stricken look on his face would have been downright amusing if it weren’t for the fact that I was utterly heartbroken about said Carina.

Tom took a deep breath, smoothing his expression and gathering himself…but his voice cracked as he replied. “This isn’t how I wanted you to find out-”

“Really? How were you planning on telling me, exactly? Icing it on a cake? Sky-writing?”

Tom ran a shaky hand through his hair. “No, I…I truly didn’t know how to tell you-”

 “So, you _are_ married?” I asked, my voice cracking on that horrid little ‘m’ word. A small part of me had hoped he would deny it, that it was all just a big misunderstanding or an elaborate joke. ‘“ _Ha! Ha! Of course I’m not married, Charlotte- you’re the only woman for me!”’_

“Only…only in the legal sense. Charlotte, there’s _nothing_ between Carina and I-”

“Don’t! Don’t say her name!” I shouted, placing my hands over my ears. Tom grasped my wrists, pulling my hands away.

“We haven’t been a couple for _years_ , Charlotte. She means nothing, I promise you.”

“Do I mean nothing to you, too?” I sobbed, trying to free myself from his grasp. My anger was starting to dissipate- the shock of the discovery had drained me of energy and I was about ready to fall into his warm, open arms at any moment.

Tom caught my chin, guiding it up with the tip of his finger until I had little choice but to look at him. His eyes looked glassy, the blue of his irises all the more startling for the reddishness surrounding them. “No! Charlotte, you’re…everything,” he murmured, his eyebrows raised in a beseeching, pleading gesture that would have ordinarily made my knees weak. How long had I wished for him to say something so heartfelt to me? Why did it have to be at the ugliest point of our relationship? ‘ _Life isn’t fair…’_

“Then _why_ did you lie to me?” I yelled, knocking his hand aside and taking several steps back. Tom looked stunned at my rapid outburst, momentarily put off-kilter. “Seriously, Tom? At no fucking point in six months did you feel the need to mention that you’re married?”

“I…there never seemed to be an appropriate moment,” he explained, as I snorted derisively. For a top-notch lawyer, I didn’t feel he was arguing his case too well. ‘ _He doesn’t have a case, that’s why! He’s a lying fucker!’_

“You know, in the beginning, I didn’t think our relationship would _progress_ as it did. It took me by surprise, how strongly I felt for you. By the time I realised, I…I was afraid to tell you. I feared that if I told you, you’d leave, but then I knew that if you found out for yourself, you’d _definitely_ leave. I couldn’t rationalise it. I couldn’t rationalise a lot of things around you, Charlotte. You make me insensate.”

I stared at him, my eyes raw with tears, my stomach clenching with nauseous, my mind cut into bits. If anyone was ‘insensate’ here, it was _me_. I took a deep breath, rallying my few scraps of courage together.

“Leave, Tom. I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” I said, softly, turning away from him.

He hesitated, then stepped forward, reaching out to touch me. I flinched away, feeling my heart stutter. I kept my eyes turned away from him, not wanting to see the pathetic look on his face.

“I said leave!” I shouted, my sadness evolving into panicked anger.

The front door creaked and I whipped round, thinking that he had truly left.

The truth was actually worse. Saranya stood framed in the doorway, her eyes taking in the tableau of Tom and I as the door slowly closed behind her.

“What the hell is going on? I could hear you from downstairs,” she said, sounding distinctly out of breath.

Saranya’s sudden appearance sent a fresh shot of panic through my veins. I turned on Tom, shrieking like a wild thing. “Get out, I want you to leave!”

Sara’s head whipped back and forth as she looked between the two of us. “What’s going on? Are you Tom?”

“He’s just leaving,” I told her, hurrying to the door and wrenching it wide open. Tom understood the message. He crossed his arms, planting his feet determinedly. His voice wavered with barely-controlled anger as he addressed me.

“Like hell I am. Charlotte, we need to talk-”

“We’ve talked enough! _Get out_!” I shouted, angrily rubbing away the fresh, traitorous tears that were pouring down my cheeks. Sara seemed to rouse herself, stepping between Tom and I as he approached me, hands raised plaintively.

“Right, you heard her, I think you should go.”

Tom ignored her firm command, looking over her head at me, trying to snare my eyes with his. “Charlotte, we are not done-”

“ _Fuck you,_ Tom. We are done.” My voice could have frozen hell itself. Anger flickered in Tom’s eyes, alongside something akin to panic, recognition of a loss of control.

“Don’t speak to me like-”

“Like what? You don’t own me anymore! I can say what I want!” Saranya started, turning to stare at me with wide eyes. I was too worked up to backtrack or attempt to censor my words.

“ _Own you_ -?” she gasped.

“Yes! We’re not actually dating, he’s just paying me to be his bit on the side!”

Sara’s jaw looked as though it was about to drop to the floor. “ _What_?”

Tom stepped forward, a hand reached out as if he could stop what I was about to say. “ _Charlotte_ , don’t-”

“He’s married! I just found out today! Isn’t that just hysterical?!” The only thing that was hysterical, was _me_. I was a shaking, sobbing mess. Pain flickered across Tom’s face as he darted around Saranya, intent on touching me, embracing me. I shrank against the wall, giving Sara enough time to barge between us again.

“Stop! _Leave_ , right fucking now, or I swear to God I will call the police!” she told Tom, her voice carrying a threatening type of anger that I couldn’t quite master, in my misery.

Tom stopped dead, but he didn’t look at Sara or even seem to acknowledge her threat. He stared at me beseechingly, his eyes and face conveying everything he wanted to say, but what I had refused to hear.

“Get out, Tom,” I said softly, wearily, resolutely looking away from him.

My eyes swam with yet more tears as I _heard_ the fight go out of him. He walked slowly to the door, pausing beside me. Saranya made a noise of indignation, starting towards him.

“I’ll give you time, but this isn’t over, Charlotte. _We_ aren’t over. Call me, later, and I’ll explain everything. I promise. I’m sorry, love,” he spoke lowly, his voice velvety soft, yet I could feel his eyes boring into my head, willing me to face him, to give him the chance to explain. I didn’t want explanations. No even he could talk his way out of this one.

I walked, dreamlike, into the kitchen, keeping my head held resolutely high. My legs wobbled and I gripped the worktop for support as I heard the door slam shut, and the sound of him walking away.

“What the ever-loving _fuck_ was that, Char?” Sara raged, barging into the kitchen like a bull in a china shop. I choked on my tears, not bothering to answer her question.

“I can’t fucking believe this! He’s married? And you didn’t know?” she persisted, trying to pull me round to face her.

“N-no, of course not!” I snapped, defensively, pulling my sleeves down and wiping at my cheeks as I turned to face her. Sara glared at me.

“Oh, don’t play the angel now! What was that about him _paying_ you? Was that true, or were you just fucking about?”

I chewed my lip, not able to meet her eyes. Tom’s departure had caused a sharp drop in my adrenaline, and my anger. I felt tired and sad and utterly defeated. I shrugged, non-committedly, just wanting to crawl into my bed and never leave it again.

Sara looked as though she’d been shot. “Jesus Christ, what the fuck is wrong with you? Who even are you?” she shouted, staring at me with wide eyes. “God, I _knew_ something was up with you these past few months but I chalked it up to love sickness-”

“I’m not in love,” I snapped, instantly. Sara stopped dead, the shock and anger in her face making room for pity. I recoiled as she reached a hand out in comfort.

“Yes, you are. The fact that you can’t even see it is scary, Charlotte. I thought you were smarter than this,” she said sadly, shaking her head at me with a last, pitying glance as she left the room.

“I am not in love with Tom!” I yelled at her, as she slammed the front door on her way out.

“I am not in love with Tom,” I repeated to myself.

I guess the trouble with lying is that eventually you end up losing sight of the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...that's it! The end of Pay to Play after over a year. Wow, can't believe I actually finished it! Thank you to all for the love and encouragement, couldn't have done it without you :) I should note that, although the main story is finished, I'm not done with the characters just yet (apologies for not saying so beforehand!) Scar xx


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